¥10  WtCS,  o 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
ROBERT  B.  HONEYMAN,  JR. 


/7s 


A  COLLECTION 

OF 

MILITARY  VERSE, 


TOGETHER  WITH  THE  SPECIAL  POEM, 


ILLUSTRATED, 


CADET  GREY; 


BY 


BRET  HARTE. 


HOMER  LEE  &  Co.,  NEW  YORK. 

1878. 


COPYRIGHT,  1878, 
BY   HOMER   LEE  &  CO. 


(ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED.) 


HOMER  LEE  &  CO., 

65  LIBERTY  STREET,  NEW  YOKK. 


CADETS  AND  GRADUATES 

OF    THE 

UNITED    £TATE£   MILITARY 


REFACE. 


favor  with  which  "Fag  Ends  "was  received,  excited  the  desire 
of  preparing  a  book  on  West  Point  and  Army  Life  which  should 
surpass    every  other    work   of  the   kind. 

In  order  to  perfect  the  plan  of  making  for  the  Military  Academy,  a 
companion-book  to  "  Fag  Ends  from  the  Naval  Academy,"  we  have 
secured  the  cooperation  of  some  of  the  ablest  authors  and  artists  in 
the  country. 

It  is  for  others  to  judge  of  the  merit  of  the  undertaking  :  what  we 
know  is,  that  neither  care  nor  expense  has  been  spared  to  achieve  success. 


More  than  half  the  book  consists  of  new  matter.  "Cadet  Grey,"  by  BRET  HARTE,  is  the 
longest  and  most  elaborate  contribution  to  American  poetry  of  its  distinguished  author.  The 
structure  of  the  verse  is  in  the  Spenserian  measure,  and  is  in  the  narrative  manner  of  BYRON'S 
"Childe  Harold"  and  "Don  Juan." 

The  poem  which  Mr.  HARTE  has  written  for  this  book  contains  the  first  song — "  Not  Yet " — 
he  ever  composed.  This,  with  the  "  Bugle  Calls "  so  happily  introduced,  have  been  set  to  music 
by  HARRISON  MILLARD,  one  of  our  most  popular  composers. 

The  illustrations,  which  are  from  original  pen  drawings,  were  all  made  expressly  for  this  col 
lection  by  TH.  NAST,  WELDON,  DARLEY,  MORAN,  KELLY,  HOPKINS,  and  others ;  and  will  be  found, 
alike  in  conception  and  execution,  far  above  any  others  ever  attempted  in  a  book  of  this  character. 
It  will  gratify  Mr.  NAST'S  many  Army  friends  to  find  that  he  has  contributed  to  the  illustrations; 
and  our  thanks  are  cordially  rendered  to  him,  as  well  as  to  Messrs.  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  for 
granting  us  his  valuable  aid,  and  for  other  courtesies. 


CONTENTS. 


9    CADET  GREY, 


by  BRET  HARTE. 


SONGS 


CADET 

47  Benny  Havens,  Oh  ! 

55  First  Night  on  Post, 

57  Same  at  Same 

59  Mon  Cadet, 

60  Dot  Deutschcr  Kadett,        .        . 
62  Nigger  Jim,       .         .         .        . 
64  Kept  Back  on  Furlough,     . 

66  Return  of  the  Furloughman,  . 

67  The  Plebe's  Lament,   . 

69  The  Plebe's  Prayer, .... 

69  The  Plebe's  Valentine, 

70  My  Old  Reveilles,    .... 

71  He  Done  his  Level  Best,     . 

71  Ode  to  Mademoiselle  Anna  Lytical, 

72  'Epigram, 

73  Who  Fired  that  Gun  in  the  Area?. 

74  One  Hundred  Days  to  June, 

7  5  Shoulder  Straps 

76  To  "  Seventy-Six," 

77  An  Old  Cadet's  Advice,  . 

79  West  Point 

80  Our  Four  O'Clocks, 

8 1  Description  of  a  Cadet  Hop, 

82  J'aime  les  Militaires, 

86  Romance  on  the  Hudson, — 

87  Reality  on  the  Plains, 

88  The  Old  South  Gate, 

89  A  Cadet  Hash 

93  Her  Treasures 

6 


AND 

Lieut.  O' 


POEMS. 

'Brien,  and  many  others. 
Wickliffe—  '72. 
Howe—  '78. 
By  a  Lady  Visitor. 
Goode  —  '79. 
Howland  —  '76. 
Howland  —  '76. 

Hoyle  —  '73. 
Howe—  '78. 

J.  R.  Riblett—  '72. 

Stevenson  —  '78. 

T.  B.  Nichols—  '72. 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

Casey  —  '72. 

Howland  —  '76. 

Col.  G.  D.  Brewerton. 


L.  C.  Strong. 
Prof.  Bailey. 
By  a  Survivor. 
B.  H.  Craig. 


Mrs.  Gen.Winfield  Scott. 
S.  H.  Lockett— '59. 
Mary  Ange  De  Vere. 


95 

97 

98 

101 

103 

103 


1 06 
107 
1 08 
109 
no 
III 

"3 
114 
117 
118 
119 
1 20 
123 
124 
126 


An  Invitation  to  the  Army,  . 
A  Graduating  Song,  . 
Song  of  the  Class  of  '79, 
Army  Blue, 
Requiem  to  Benny  Havens, 


Patrick  Costigan. 
Class  of  '47. 
Huse — '79. 
L.  W.  Becklaw. 
J.  Bratt — '37. 


In  Memoriam— (Col.)  A.  E.  Church,  LL.D.,  J.  Bratt — '37. 


ARMY    POEMS. 


Our  Skeleton  Army,  . 

Custer 

The  Cavalry  Charge, 
Old  Comanche,       . 
Before  the  Attack,     . 
Wrath  of  the  Black  Hills,      . 
Revenge  of  Rain-in-the-Face, 
The  Flower  of  Liberty,  . 
Towards  the  Setting  Sun, 
Rifle  and  Bow, 

Monterey 

Bivouac  of  the  Dead,     . 
The  Blue  and  the  Gray,    . 
The  Pride  of  Battery  B., 
The  Irish  Picket, 


W.  A.  Croffut. 
Edmund  C.  Stedman. 
Edmund  C.  Stedman. 


Col.  A.  T.  Lee. 

H.  W.  Longfellow. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

"T." 

R.  H.  Stoddard. 

Charles  Fenno  Hoffman. 

Theo.  O'Hara. 

F.  M.  Finch. 

F.  H.  Gassaway. 

Orpheus  C.  Kerr. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

129  Glossary  of  Technical  Terms. 

132  Squibs  from  the   Skinbook. 

133  Explanations  of  the     " 

134  Appointment  of  Cadets. 
136.  An  Historical  Leaf. 
139  Military  Autographs. 

153     Autographs  for  Fair  Hands. 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


CADET   GREY. 

PAGE. 

8  Beware ! 

9  Cadet  Grey  (Title  Page)       . 

10  Interior.     A  Study,          .... 

1 1  Competitive  Examination, 

1 3  Coat  of  Arms,  and  Appointment, 

14  West  Point,  from  across  the  Hudson, 

1 5  Seacoast  Battery  by  Night, 

1 6  Ruins  of  Fort  Putnam,         .... 

17  Inside  Old  Fort  Clinton, 

1 8  The  Encampment  by  Night, 

20  Battery  Knox,  looking  down  the  River, 

21  Interior  of  a  Section  Room, 

22  Departure  of  Serenaders, 

23  Miss  Kitty  Rover, 

24  Not  Yet — (Music), 

27  Second  Exercise — Squad  Drill,    . 

29  Doing  Police  Detail 

30  Reveille — (Music),  Bugle  Call, 

31  Farewell  Hop  in  the  Mess  Hall,     . 

32  On  Flirtation  Walk 

34  At  Kosciusko's  Spring, 

35  Steps  leading  to  "  Flirtation," 

36  Old  Bentz,  the  Bugler  (Portrait),    . 
36  The  Barracks  by  Moonlight, 

36  Bugle  Song  (Music) 

37  "The  Red  Marauders  of  the  Western  Land, 
39  The  Disguised  Rescuer, 

41  The  Pursuit 

43  Cupid  in  Uniform 


CADET    SONGS. 

PAGE. 

Th.  Nast. 

45 

Saturday  Night  in  Barracks, 

Weldon. 

Weldon. 

48 

Benny  Havens  (Portrait),     . 

.     Zenophe. 

•• 

55 

Ghosts,  First  Night  on  Post,     . 

L.  Hopkins. 

•• 

56 

In  the  Trenches  of  Fort  Clinton, 

•• 

•< 

58 

First  Lessons  in  the  School  of  the  Soldier, 

Weldon. 

T.  Moran. 

60 

Arrival  of  "  Dot  Deutscher  Kadett,"     . 

•• 

Weldon. 

62 

Nigger  Jim.     (James  Smith,  "76.) 

Mowbray. 

.. 

67 

H 

« 

w/ 

67 

Policing  a  First  Classman's  Tent, 

tt 

H 

68 

Double  Time,  Exercising  New  Cadets, 

. 

It 

68 

Tion  Squad.     On  the  Plain,     . 

" 

" 

73 

Who  Fired  that  Gun  in  the  Area  ? 

.    Weldon. 

" 

83 

Plebe  Camp.  —  By  a  Plebe.     Four  Views, 

Mowbray. 

" 

84 

"              "         "          (Cont'd.)    Four 

Views,        " 

H.  Millard. 

85 

Sho'wing  Weight  of  a  Plebe  's  Gun, 

. 

Weldon. 

90 

A  Genuine  Cadet  Hash  

...     L.  Hopkins. 

ii 

9i 

The  Surprise,  

" 

H.  Millard. 

Q2 

Gray-  Parker. 

7 

IOI 

Army  Blue.     The  Race  for  the  Cup,    . 

.     C.  Osborne. 

Weldon. 

ARMY    POEMS. 

IOC 

Our  Skeleton  U.  S.  A  

Th.  Nast. 

" 

•VJ 

112 

Battle  of  the  Little  Big  Horn.     (Juengling, 

Sc.)      Kelly. 

flecker 

116 

Towards  the  Setting  Sun  

L.  Hopkins. 

118 

Rifle  and  Bow,        .                         . 

H.  Millard. 

\\T    1  A 

127 

The  Irish  Picket  

L.  Hopkins. 

Weldon. 

F.  O.  C.  Darley. 

AUTOGRAPHS. 

••              " 

139 

Military  Design,          . 

Weldon. 

Weldon. 

153 

Fan              "           .        ... 

•' 

BEWARE  ! 


I3RET  MARTE- 

i. 

CT  first,  scene  first.     A  study.     Of  a  kind 
Half  cell,  half  salon,  opulent  yet  grave; 

Rare  books,  low  shelved,  yet  far  above  the  mind 
Of  common  man  to  compass  or  to  crave ; 

Some  slight  relief  of  pamphlets  that  inclined 
The  soul  at  first  to  trifling,  till  dismayed 

By  text  and  title,  it  drew  back  resigned, 
Nor  cared  with  levity  to  vex  a  shade 
That  to  itself  such  perfect  concord  made. 


Copyright,  1878,  by  Homer  Lee  A  Co. 


9 


"A    STUDY.      OF   A   KIND   HALF   CELL,   HALF  salon,   OPULENT  YET   GRAVE' 


II. 

Some  thoughts  like  these  perplexed  the  patriot  brain 
Of  Jones — Lawgiver  to  the  Commonwealth, 

As  on  the  threshold  of  this  chaste  domain 

He  paused  expectant  and  looked  up  in  stealth 

To  darkened  canvases  that  frowned  amain, 
With  stern-eyed  Puritans,  who  first  began 

To  spread  their  roots  in   Georgius  Primus1  reign, 
Nor  dropped  till  now,  obedient  to  some  plan, 
Their  century  fruit — the  perfect  Boston  man. 

in. 

Somewhere  within  that  Russia  scented  gloom 

A  voice,  catarrhal,  thrilled  the  Member's  ear, 
"Brief  is  our  business,  Jones.     Look  round  this  room! 
Regard  yon  portraits !     Read  their  meaning  clear. 

These  much  proclaim  my  station.     I  presume 
Yon  are  our  Congressman,  before  whose  wit 

And  sober  judgment  shall  the  youth  appear 

Who  for  West  Point  is  deemed  most  just  and  fit 
To  serve  his  country,  and  to  honor  it." 


"  ELSEWHERE, — TRIAL   COMPETITIVE. 


I  I 


IV. 

"  Such  is  my  son !     Elsewhere,  perhaps  'twere  wise, 

Trial  competitive  should  guide  your  choice. 
There  are  some  people  I  can  well  surmise 

Themselves  must  show  their  merit.     History's  voice 
Spares  me  that  trouble.     All  desert  that  lies 

In  yonder  ancestor,  of  Queen  Anne's  day, 
Or  yon  grave  Governor — is  all  my  hoy's ; 

Reverts  to  him  ;  entailed,  as  one  might  say ; 

In  brief,  result  in  Winthrop  Adams  Grey !" 

v. 

He  turned  and  laid  his  well-bred  hand,  and  smiled 
On  the  cropped  head  of  one  who  stood  beside. 

Ah  me !  in  sooth,  it  was  no  ruddy  child, 

Nor  brawny  youth  that  thrilled  the  father's  pride — 

'Twas  but  a  Mind  that  somehow  had  beguiled 
From  soulless  Matter  processes  that  served 

For  speech  and  motion  and  digestion  mild, 
Content  if  all  one  moral  purpose  nerved, 
Nor  recked  thereby  its  spine  were  somewhat  curved. 


VI. 

He  was  scarce  eighteen.     Yet  ere  he  was  eight 
He  had  despoiled  the  classics ;  much  he  knew 

Of  Sanscrit ;  not  that  he  placed  undue  weight 
On  this,  but  that  it  helped  him  with   Hebrew, 

His  favorite  tongue.     He  learned,  alas  !  too  late, 
One  can't  begin  too  early.     Would  regret 

That  boyish  whim  to  ascertain  the  state 
Of  Venus'  atmosphere  made  him  forget 
That  philologic  goal  on  which  his  soul  was  set. 

vn. 

He  too  had  travelled.     At  the  age  of  ten 
Found  Paris  empty,  dull — except  for  Art, 

And  accent.     Mabille  with  its  glories  then 
Less  than  Egyptian  Almees,  touched  a  heart 

Nothing  if  not  pure  classic.     If  some  men 
Thought  him  a  prig,  it  vexed  not  his  conceit, 

But  moved  his  pity,  and  ofttimes  his  pen 

The  better  to  instruct  them,  through  some  sheet 
Published  in   Boston,  and  signed  '•  Beacon   Street." 


12 


VIII. 

From  premises  so  plain  the  blind  could  see 
But  one  deduction,  and  it  came  next  day. 
"In  times  like  these,  the  very  name  of  G 

Speaks  volumes,"  wrote  the  Honorable  J. 
"  Enclosed  please  find  appointment."     Presently 

Came  a  Reception  to  which  Harvard  lent 
Fourteen  professors,  and  to  give  esprit, 
The  Liberal  Club  some  eighteen  ladies  sent, 
Five  that  spoke  Greek  and  thirteen  sentiment. 


Four  poets  came  who  loved  each  other's  song, 

And  two  philosophers  who  thought  that  they 
Were  in  most  things  impractical  and  wrong ; 
And  two  Reformers,  each  in  his  own  way 
Peculiar.     One  who  had  waxed  strong 

On  herbs  and  water,  and  such  simple  fare ; 
Two  foreign  lions,  "  Ram  See "  and  "  Chy  Long," 
And  several  artists  claimed  attention  there, 
Based  on  the  fact  they  had  been  snubbed  elsewhere. 


With  this  endorsement  nothing  now  remained 

But  counsel,  God  speed,  and  some  calm  adieux ; 
No  foolish  tear  the  father's  eyelash  stained, 

And  Winthrop's  cheek  as  guiltless  shone  of  dew. 
A  slight  publicity,  such  as  obtained 

In  classic  Rome,  these  last  few  hours  attended. 
The  day  arrived,  the  train  and  depot  gained 

The  mayor's  own  presence  this  last  act  commended  ; 

The  train  moved  off,  and  here  the  first    act  ended. 


CANTO   II. 


HERE  West  Point  crouches  and  with  lifted  shield 
Turns  the  whole  river,  eastward,  through  the  pass ; 

Whose  jutting  crags,  half  silver,  stand  revealed 
Like  bossy  bucklers  of  Leonidas  ; 

Where  .buttressed  low  against  the  storms  that  wield 
Their  summer  lightnings  where  her  eaglets  swarm, 

By  Freedom's  cradle  Nature's  self  has  steeled 
Her  heart,  like  Winkelried,  and  to  that  storm 
Of  levelled  lances  bares  her  bosom  warm. 

Ji. 

But  not  to-night.     The  air  and  woods  are  still, 

The  faintest  rustle  in  the  trees  below, 
The  lowest  tremor  from  the  mountain-rill, 

Come  to  the  ear  as  but  the  trailing  flow 
Of  spirit  robes  that  walk  unseen  the  hill ; 

The  moon  low  sailing  o'er  the  upland  farm, 
The  moon  low  sailing  where  the  waters  fill 

The  lozenge  lake,  beside  the  banks  of  balm, 

Gleams  like  a  chevron  on  the  river's  arm. 


All  space  breathes  languor ;   from  the  hilltop  high 
Where  Putnam's  bastion  crumbles  in  the  past 

To  swooning  depths  where  drowsy  cannon  lie 

And  wide-mouthed  mortars  gape  in  slumbers  vast 

Stroke  upon  stroke,  the  far  oars  glance  and  die 
On  the  hushed  bosom  of  the  sleeping  stream  ; 

Bright  for  one  moment  drifts  a  white  sail  by, 
Bright  for  one  moment  shows  a  bayonet  gleam 
Far  on  the  level  plain,  then  passes  as  a  dream. 


IV. 

Soft  down  the  line  of  darkened  battlements, 
Bright  on  each  lattice  of  the  barrack  walls, 

•Where  the  low  arching  sallyport  indents, 

Seen  through  its  gloom  beyond  the  moonbeam  falls ; 

All  is  repose,  save  where  the  camping  tents 

Mock  the  white  gravestones  further  on,  where  sound 

No  morning  guns  for  reveille,  nor  whence 

No  drum-beat  calls  retreat,  but  still  is  ever  found 
Waiting  and  present  on  each  sentry's  round. 


v. 

Within  the  camp  they  lie,  the  young,  the  brave, 
Half  knight,  half  school-boy  ;    acolytes  of  fame, 

Pledged  to  one  altar  and  perchance  one  grave ; 
Bred  to  fear  nothing  but  reproach  and  blame, 

Ascetic  dandies  o'er  whom  vestals  rave, 

Clean-limbed  young  Spartans,  disciplined  young  elves  ; 

Taught  to  destroy,  that  they  may  live  to  save, 
Students  embattled,  soldiers  at  their  shelves, 
Heroes  \yhose  conquests  are  at  first  themselves. 


VI. 

Within  the  camp  they  lie,  in  dreams  are  freed 

From  the  grim  discipline  they  learn  to  love  ; 
In  dreams  no  more  the  sentry's  challenge  heed, 

In  dreams  afar  beyond  their  pickets  rove  ; 
One  treads  once  more  the  piney  paths  that  lead 

To  his  Green  Mountain  home,  and  pausing  hears 
The  cattle  call ;  one  treads  the  tangled  weed 

Of  slippery  rocks  beside  Atlantic  piers ; 

One  smiles  in  sleep,  one  wakens  wet  with  tears. 

VII. 

One  scents  the  breath  of  jasmine  flowers  that  twine 
The  pillared  porches  of  his  Southern  home ; 

One  hears  the  coo  of  pigeons  in  the  pine 

Of  Western  woods  where  he  was  wont  to  roam ; 

One  sees  the  sunset  fire  the  distant  line 

Where  the  long  prairie  sweeps  its  levels  down  ; 

One  treads  the  snow  peaks ;  one,  by  lamps  that  shine 
Down  the  broad  highways  of  the  sea-girt  town, 
And  two  are  missing — Cadets  Grey  and  Brown  ! 


VIII. 

Much  as  I  grieve  to  chronicle  the  fact, 

That  self-same  truant  known  as  "  Cadet  Grey  " 

Was  the  young  hero  of  our  moral  tract, 

Shorn  of  his  two-fold  names  on  entrance-day. 
"  Winthrop  "  and  "Adams  "  dropped  in  that  one  act 
Of  martial  curtness,  and  the  roll-call  thinned 

Of  his  ancestors,  he  with  youthful  tact 

Indulgence  claimed,  since  Winthrop  no  more  sinnedj 
Nor  sainted  Adams  winced  when  he,  plain  Grey,  was 
"  skinned." 

IX. 

He  had  known  trials  since  we  saw  him  last, 
By  sheer  good  luck  had  just  escaped  rejection, 

Not  for  his  learning,  but  that  it  was  cast 

In  a  spare  frame  scarce  fit  for  drill  inspection  ; 

But  when  he  ope'd  his  lips  a  stream  so  vast 
Of  information  flooded  each  professor, 

They  quite  forgot  his  eyeglass — something  past 
All  precedent — accepting  the  transgressor, 
Weak  eyes  and  all,  of  which  he  was  possessor. 


X. 

E'en  the  first  day  he  touched  a  blackboard's  space — 
So  the  tradition  of  his  glory  lingers — 

Two  wise  professors  fainted,  each  with  face 
White  as  the  chalk  within  his  rapid  fingers : 

All  day  he  ciphered,  at  such  frantic  pace 
His  form  was  hid  in  chalk  precipitation 

Of  every  problem,  till  they  said  his  case 
Could  meet  from  them  no  fair  examination 
Till  Congress  made  a  new  appropriation. 

XI. 

Famous  in  molecules.     He  demonstrated 

From  the  mess  hash  to  many  a  listening  classful ; 

Great  as  a  botanist,  he  separated 

Three  kinds  of  Mentha  in  one  julep's  glassful ; 

High  in  astronomy,  it  has  been  stated 

He  was  the  first  at  West  Point  to  discover 

Mars'  missing  satellites,  and  calculated 

Their  true  positions,  not  the  heavens  over, 
But  'neath  the  window  of  Miss  Kitty  Rover. 


21 


XII. 

Indeed  I  fear  this  novelty  celestial 

That  very  night  was  visible  and  clear ; 
At  least  two  youths  of  aspect  most  terrestrial, 

And  clad  in  uniform,  were  loitering  near 
A  villa's  casement,  where  a  gentle  vestal 

Took  their  impatience  somewhat  patiently, 
Knowing  the  youths  were  somewhat  green  and 
"  bestial  "— 

(A  certain  slang  of  the  Academy 

I  beg  the  reader  won't  refer  to  me). 

• 

XIII. 

For  when  they  ceased  their  ardent  strain,  Miss  Kitty 
Glowed  not  with  anger  nor  a  kindred  flame, 

But  rather  flushed  with  an  odd  sort  of  pity, 

Half  matron's  kindness,  and  half  coquette's  shame ; 

Proud  yet  quite  blameful,  when  she  heard  their  ditty 
She  gave  her  soul  poetical  expression, 

And  being  clever,  too,  as  she  was  pretty, 

From  her  high  casement  warbled  this  confession- 
Half  provocation  and  one  half  repression  : 


A  u    Moderato  e 

con  esp. 

'   *nd  A.  B.C. 

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till  the  Tnorning'.'bars 
take  an-oA-er  Hue, 


Slip  jrom  the   lev-  ds  of  the  Fastemgate.    Jftgktistooyouryr,  0  friend, 
<Sooa  dies  jonlyrht  upon    the  mountain  trow.    Wiat  iieth  dark,  0     love., 


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XIV. 

The  strain  was  finished ;  softly  as  the  night 

Her  voice  died  from  the  window,  yet  e'en  then 

Fluttered  and  fell  likewise  a  kerchief  white  ; 
But  that  no  doubt  was  accident,  for  when 

She  sought  her  couch  she  deemed  her  conduct  quite 
Beyond  the  reach  of  scandalous  commentor— 

Washing  her  hands  of  either  gallant  wight, 
Knowing  the  moralist  might  compliment  her— 
Thus  voicing  Siren  with  the  words  of  Mentor. 


xv. 

She  little  knew  the  youths  below,  who  straight 
Dived  for  her  kerchief,  and  quite  overlooked 

The  pregnant  moral  she  would  inculcate  ; 

Nor  dreamed  she  less  how  little  Winthrop  brooked 

Her  right  to  doubt  his  soul's  maturer  state. 

Brown — who  was  Western,  amiable,  and  new — 

Might  take  the  moral  and  accept  his  fate; 
The  which  he  did — but  being  stronger  too, 
Took  the  white  kerchief,  also,  as  his  due. 


XVI. 


They  did  not  quarrel,  which  no  doubt  seemed  queer 
To  those  who  knew  not  how  their  friendship  blended  ; 

Each  were  opposed,  and  each  the  other's  peer, 
Yet  each  the  other  in  some  things  transcended. 

Where  Brown  lacked  culture,  brains — and  oft  I  fear 
Cash  in  his  pocket — Grey  of  course  supplied  him ; 

Where  Grey  lacked  frankness,  force,  and  faith  sincere, 
Brown  of  his  manhood  suffered  none  to  chide  him, 
But  in  his  faults  stood  manfully  beside  him. 


'  IN   CAMP   DRILL   AND   MARTIAL   OCCUPATION." 


XVII. 

In  academic  walks  and  studies  grave, 

In  the  camp  drill  and  martial  occupation, 

They  helped  each  other — but  just  here  I  crave 
Space  for  the  reader's  full  imagination — 

The  fact  is  patent,  Grey  became  a  slave  !— 

A  tool,  a  fag,  a  "  plebe  !"     To  state  it  plainer — 

All  that  blue  blood  and  ancestry  e'er  gave, 

Cleaned  guns,  brought  water ! — was,  in  fact,  retainer 
To  Jones,  whose  uncle  was  a  paper  stainer ! 

XVIII. 

How  they  bore  this  at  home  I  cannot  say : 
I  only  know — so  runs  the  gossip's  tale- 
It  chanced  one  day  that  the  paternal  Grey 

Came  to  West  Point,  that  he  himself  might  hail 
The  future  hero  in  some  proper  way 

Consistent  with  his  lineage.     With  him  came 
A  judge,  a  poet,  and  a  brave  array 

Of  aunts  and  uncles,  bearing  each  a  name, 
Eyeglass  and  respirator  with  the  same. 


XIX. 

"  Observe  !"  quoth  Grey  the  elder  to  his  friends, 
"  Not  in  these  giddy  youths  at  base-ball  playing 
You'll  notice  Winthrop  Adams  !     Greater  ends 

Than  these  absorb  his  leisure.     No  doubt  straying 
With  Caesar's  Commentaries,  he  attends 

Some  Roman  council.     Let  us  ask,  however, 
Yon  grimy  urchin,  who  my  soul  offends 
By  wheeling  offal,  if  he  will  endeavor 
To    find what!    heaven! — Winthrop!     Oh,    no! 


Never !" 


xx. 


Alas  too  true  !     Th*e  last  of  all  the  Greys 
Was  "  doing  Police  detail ;"  it  had  come 

To  this ;  in  vain  were  the  historic  bays  - 

That  crowned  the  pictured  Puritans  at  home ! 

And  yet  'twas  certain  that  in  grosser  ways 

Of  health  and  physique  he  was  quite  improving. 

Straighter  he  stood,  and  had  achieved  some  praise 
In  other  exercise,  much  more  behooving 
A  soldier's  taste,  than  merely  dirt  removing. 


•NNvV^. 

v\Xx      ;/',-   IS'? 

V      >  ^>V  — ^;v        , 

•^Y'* '  *•)>  v\  \<.  :-^i:'  ^w^Xxv 


"WHAT!  HEAVEN! — WINTHROP  !  On,  NO!  NEVER!" 


XXI. 

But  to  resume :  we  left  the  youthful  pair, 
Some  stanzas  back,  before  a  lady's  bower ; 

Tis  to  be  hoped  they  were  no  longer  there, 
For  stars  were  pointing  to  the  morning  hour ; 

Their  escapade  discovered,  ill  'twould  fare 
With  our  two  heroes,  derelict  of  orders; 

But,  like  the  ghost,  they  "  scent  the  morning  air," 
And  back  again  they  steal  across  the  borders, 
Unseen,  unheeded  by  their  martial  warders. 


3° 


XXII. 

They  got  to  bed  with  speed  :  young  Grey  to  dream 
Of  some  vague  future  with  a  General's  star, 

And  Mistress  Kitty  basking  in  its  gleam  ; 
While  Brown,  content  to  worship  her  afar, 

Dreamed  himself  dying  by  some  lonely  stream- 
Having  snatched  Kitty  from  eighteen  Nez  Perces- 

Till  a  far  bugle,*  with  the  morning  beam, 
In  his  dull  ear  its  fateful  song  rehearses, 
Which  Winthrop  Adams  after  put  to  verses : 


'AT   LAST   CAME   GRADUATION, — THEN    KROLIC,    FLIRTING,    PARTING — " 


XXIII. 


So  passed  three  years  of  their  novitiate, 

The  first  real  boyhood  Grey  had  ever  known. 

His  youth  ran  clear — not  choked,  like  his  Cochituate, 
In  civic  pipes,  but  free  and  pure  alone ; 

Yet  knew  repression,  could  himself  habituate 
To  having  mind  and  body  well  rubbed  down, 

Could  read  himself  in  others,  and  could  situate 
Themselves  in  him — except,  I  grieve  to  own, 
He  couldn't  see  what  Kitty  saw  in  Brown  ! 


XXIV. 

At  last  came  graduation  ;  Brown  received 
In  the  One  Hundredth  Cavalry  commission  ; 

Then  frolic,  flirting,  parting — when  none  grieved 
Save  Brown,  who  loved  our  young  Academician, 

And  Grey,  who  felt  his  friend  was  still  deceived 
By  Mistress  Kitty,  who,  with  other  beauties 

Graced  the  occasion,  and  it  was  believed 

Had  promised  Brown  that  when  he  could  recruit  his 
Promised  command,  she'd  share  with  him  those  duties. 


xxv. 


Howe'er  this  be  I  know  not ;  all  I  know, 

The  night  was  June's,  the  moon  rode  high  and  clear, 
"  Twas  such  a  night  as  this  " — -three  years  ago 

Miss  Kitty  sang  the  song  that  two  might  hear. 
There  is  a  walk  where  trees  o'erarching  grow, 

Too  wide  for  one,  not  wide  enough  for  three 
(A  fact  precluding  any  plural  beau), 

Which  quite  explained  Miss  Kitty's  company, 
But  not  why  Grey  that  favored  one  should  be. 


33 


p 

!'i~  •  "/vA.Wb  .»;  7 

i;:<:3'.t^.v  t  WJ..WT 


XXVI. 

There  is  a  spring  whose  limpid  waters  hide 
Somewhere  within  the  shadows  of  that  path 

Called  Kosciusko's.     There  two  figures  bide, 
Grey  and  Miss  Kitty.     Surely  Nature  hath 

No  fairer  mirror  for  a  might-be  bride 

Than  this  same  pool  that  caught  our  gentle  belle 

To  its  dark  heart  one  moment.     At  her  side 

Grey  bent.     A  something  trembled  o'er  the  well, 
Bright,  spherical — a  tear  ?  ah  !  no,  a  button  fell ! 


XXVII. 

"  Material  minds  might  think  that  gravitation," 

Quoth  Grey,  "  drew  yon  metallic  spheroid  down. 
The  soul  poetic  views  the  situation 

Fraught  with    more    meaning.     When    thy  girlish 

crown 
Was  mirrored  there,  there  was  disintegration 

Of  me,  and  all  my  spirit  moved  to  you, 
Taking  the  form  of  slow  precipitation  "- 

But  here  came  "  Taps,"  a  start,  a  smile,  adieu  ! 

A  blush,  a  sigh,  and — end  of  Canto  II. 


35 


BUGLE    SONG. 


-0  1 

t  k-i 

/TN 

•  —  h- 

^\ 

i  —  ^ 

c  —  N  —  »  —  c  —  K-i 

« 

fee; 

Si 

n?  » 

s  —  ^4- 

A 

JE3E 

« 

^  Jj  r  j  J 

-  far.'     Go  -  etk.     day.     Com  -  eiA.  nfykt,  dnd    a.     star     Ztad-  eik. 
Zaire,  yoad    ttiykt!  Mtut  tkou.    yo f    WAen  f/ie    defy    j/nd  tie,  mjJitJVeed  thee   so  -  Jfeed-  eth 


IL 

i     rv 

*3  • 

Cs     : 

c. 

.^ 

•      t 

'•  J 

all.      speed-  e&      all         To      fair     rest, 
all        Aeed-eih      ail       That   .is        lest.' 


'  BKNTZ  THE  BUGLER." 


WHERE  the  sun  sinks  through  leagues  of  arid  sky, 
Where  the  sun  dies  o'er  leagues  of  arid  plain, 

Where  the  dead  hones  of  wasted  rivers  lie, 

Trailed  from  their  channels  in  yon  mountain  chain ; 

WThere,  day  by  day,  naught  takes  the  wearied  eye 
But  the  low-rimming  mountains,  sharply  based 

On  the  dead  levels,  moving  far  or  nigh, 
As  the  sick  vision  wanders  o'er  the  waste, 
But  ever,  day  by  day,  against  the  sunset  traced : 


37 


II. 

There,  moving  through  a  poisonous  cloud  that  stings 
With  dust  of  alkali  the  trampling  band 

Of  Indian  ponies,  ride  on  dusky  wings, 
The  red  marauders  of  the  Western  land. 

Heavy  with  spoil,  they  seek  the  trail  that  brings 
Their  flaunting  lances  to  that  sheltered  bank 

Where  lie  their  lodges  ;  and  the  river  sings 
Forgetful  of  the  plain  beyond,  that  drank 
Its  life  blood,  where  the  wasted  caravan  sank. 

in. 

They  brought  with  them  the  thief's  ignoble  spoil, 
The  beggar's  dole,  the  greed  of  chiffonier, 

The  scum  of  camps,  the  implements  of  toil 

Snatched  from  dead  hands,  to  rust  as  useless  here ; 

All  they  could  rake  or  glean  from  hut  or  soil 
Piled  their  lean  ponies,  with  the  jackdaws  greed 

For  vacant  glitter.     It  were  scarce  a  foil 
To  all  this  tinsel  that  one  feathered  reed 
Bore  on  its  barb  two  scalps  that  freshly  bleed  i 


IV. 

They  brought  with  them,  alas !  a  wounded  foe 
Bound  hand  and  foot,  yet  nursed  with  cruel  care, 

Lest  that  in  death  he  might  escape  one  throe 
They  had  decreed  his  living  flesh  should  bear ; 

A  youthful  officer,  by  one  foul  blow 
Of  treachery  surprised,  yet  fighting  still 

Amid  his  ambushed  train,  calm  as  the  snow 
Above  him ;  hopeless,  yet  content  to  spill 
His  blood  with  theirs,  and  fighting  but  to  kill. 

v. 

He  had  fought  nobly,  and  in  that  brief  spell 

Had  won  the  awe  of  those  rude  border  men 
Who  gathered  round  him,  and  beside  him  fell 

In  loyal  faith  and  silence,  save  that  when, 
By  smoke  embarrassed,  and  near  sight  as  well, 

He  paused  to  wipe  his  eyeglass,  and  decide 
Its  nearer  focus,  there  arose  a  yell 

Of  approbation,  and  Bob  Barker  cried, 
"  Wade  in,  Dundreary  !"  tossed  his  cap,  and— died  ! 


•  HUSH  !   FOR   YOUR  LIFE  AND   MINE ;    THE  THONGS  ARE  CUT," 


VI. 

Their  sole  survivor  now  !  his  captors  bear 
Him  all  unconscious,  and  beside  the  stream 

Leave  him  to  rest ;  meantime  the  squaws  prepare 
The  stake  for  sacrifice  ;  nor  wakes  a  gleam 

Of  pity  in  these  Furies'  eyes,  that  glare 
Expectant  of  the  torture  ;  yet  alway 

His  steadfast  spirit  shines  and  mocks  them  there 
With  peace  they  know  not ;  till  at  close  of  day 
On  his  dull  ear  there  thrills  a  whispered  "  Grey  !" 

VII. 

He  starts  !     Was  it  a  trick  ?     Had  angels  kind 

Touched   with    compassion    some   weak   woman's 

breast  ? 
Such  things  he'd  read  of!     Faintly  to  his  mind 

Came  Pocahontas,  pleading  for  her  guest. 
But  then  this  voice,  though  soft,  was  still  inclined 

To  baritone  !     A  squaw  in  ragged  gown 
Stood  near  him  frowning  hatred.     Was  he  blind  ? 

Whose  eye  was  this  beneath  that  beetling  frown  ? 

The  frown  was  painted,  but  that  wink  was — Brown  ! 


VIII. 

"  Hush  !  for  your  life  and  mine  ;  the  thongs  are  cut," 

He  whispers ;  "  in  yon  thicket  stands  my  horse. 
One  dash  ! — I  follow  close,  as  if  to  glut 

My  own  revenge,  yet  bar  the  others'  course 
Now  !"     And  'tis  done.     Grey  speeds,  Brown  follows  ; 

but 

Ere  yet  they  reach  the  shade,  Grey,  fainting,  reels- 
Yet  not  before  Brown's  circling  arms  close  shut 
His'  in,  uplifting  him  !     Anon,  he  feels 
A  horse  beneath  him  bound,  and  hears  the  rattling 
heels. 

IX. 

Then  rose  a  yell  of  baffled  hate,  and  sprang 
Headlong  the  savages  in  swift  pursuit ; 

Though  speed  the  fugitives,  they  hope  to  hang, 
Hot  on  their  heels,  like  wolves,  with  tireless  foot. 

Long  is  the  chase ;  Brown  hears  with  inward  pang 
The  short,  hard  panting  of  his  gallant  steed 

Beneath  its  double  burden  ;  vainly  rang 

Both  voice  and  spur.    The  heaving  flanks  may  bleed, 
Yet  comes  the  sequel  that  they  still  must  heed ! 


40 


"THEN  ROSE  A  YKLL  OF  BAFFLED  HATE.  AND  SPRANG  HEADLONG  THE  SAVAGES  IN  SWIFT  PURSUIT; 


X. 

Brown  saw  it — reined  his  steed ;  dismounting,  stood 

Calm  and  inflexible.     "  Old  chap,  you  see 
There  is  but  one  escape.     You  know  it  ?     Good  ! 

There  is  one  man  to  take  it.     You  are  he. 
The  horse  won't  carry  double.     If  he  could 

Twould  but  protract  this  bother.     I  shall  stay  ; 
I've  business  with  these  devils — they  with  me ; 

Twill  occupy  them  'till  you  get  away. 
Hush  !  Quick  time,  forward.     There  !  God  bless  you, 
Grey." 

XI. 

But  as  he  finished,  Grey  slipped  to  his  feet, 

Calm  as  his  ancestors  in  voice  and  eye  : 
"  You  do  forget  yourself  when  you  compete 
Whose  right  it  is  to  stay  here  and  to  die : 

That's  not  your  duty.     Please  regain  your  seat, 
And  take  my  ORDERS — for  I  rank  you  here  !— 

Mount  and  rejoin  your  men,  and  my  defeat 
Report  at  Quarters.     Take  this  letter  ;  ne'er 
Give  it  to   aught  but    her,  though   death  should 
interfere. 


XII. 

And,  shamed  and  blushing,  Brown  the  letter  took 
Obediently  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket, 

Then  drawing  forth  another,  said,  "  I  look 

For  death  as  you  do,  wherefore  take  this  locket 

And  letter ;"  here  his  comrade's  hand  he  shook 
In  silence.    "  Should  we  both  together  fall, 

Some  other  man—  "  but  here  all  speech  forsook 
His  lips,  as  ringing  cheerily  o'er  all 
He  heard  afar  his  own  dear  bugle-call  ! 

.    XIII. 

Twas  his  command  and  succor,  but  e'en  then 
Grey  fainted,  with  poor  Brown,  who  had  forgot 

He  likewise  had  been  wounded,  and  both  men 
Were  picked  up  quite  unconscious  of  their  lot. 

Long  lay  they  in  extremity,  and  when 

They  both  grew  stronger  and  once  more  exchanged 

Old  vows  and  memories,  one  common  "  den  " 
In  hospital  was  theirs,  and  free  they  ranged, 
Awaiting  orders,  but  no  more  estranged. 


43 


XIV. 


And  yet  'twas  strange — nor  can  I  end  my  tale 
Without  this  moral,  to  he  fair  and  just- 

They  never  sought  to  know  why  each  did  fail 
The  prompt  fulfilment  of  the  other's  trust. 

It  was  suggested  they  could  not  avail 

Themselves  of  either  letter,  since  they  were 

Duly  dispatched  to  their  address  hy  mail, 
By  Captain  X.,  who  knew  Miss  Rover  fair 
Now  meant  stout  Mistress  Bloggs  of  Blank  Blank 
Square. 


'A^  few  of  the.  songs  the   Cadets  sing, 
~W~hen  they  cure  'blue*  and  ~weary, 

And  poems,   that  they've  written  when 
The  heart  was  glad  and  cheery." 


BENNY    HAVENS,    OH! 


A     SONG     THAT     IS     SUNG     BY     THE     SOLDIERS     OF     UNCLE     SAM. 


"BENNY"  HAVENS,  as  all  army  men  now  living  must  know,  was  years  ago  a  seller  of  contraband  liquors  and  viands  to  the 
Cadets  at  West  Point.  At  last  he  tired  out  the  patience  of  the  officers  of  the  Academy,  who  felt  that  they  could  not  any  longer 
wink  at  his  notorious  infractions  of  the  rule,  that  no  liquors  should  be  sold  on  the  Government  reservation  at  the  Point,  and 
he  was  expelled  from  the  grounds.  But  because  he  had  been  thus  ejected  he  was  not  at  all  disposed  to  think  that  there  should 
be  "  no  more  cakes  and  ale,"  and  he  opened  a  regular  establishment  a  mile  or  two  down  the  river,  at  Highland  Falls,  which 
soon  became  a  favorite  resort  of  the  Cadets  on  convivial  occasions,  in  most  cases  at  the  risk  of  dismissal. 

The  song  which  has  carried  the  name  of  old  BENNY  around  the  world  was  originally  composed  by  Dr.  O'BRIEN,  then  a 
lieutenant  in  the  Eighth  Infantry,  on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  to  his  old  friend,  Major  RIPLEY  A.  ARNOLD,  then  a  "  first  class  man  " 
residing  in  the  old  North  Barracks  at  the  Academy.  They  made  many  excursions  to  BENNY'S.  The  song  was  composed  by 
O'BRIEN  and  others,  and  set  to  the  tune  of  "Wearing  of  the  Green."  It  soon  became  popular,  and  year  after  year  additional 
verses  have  been  composed  by  poets  of  succeeding  classes,  to  suit  certain  events,  as,  for  instance,  to  commemorate  the  memory 
of  a  dead  classmate,  or  to  extol  the  names  of  heroes  of  war,  until  the  original  five  verses  have  now  swollen  to  this  size — the 
greatest  number  of  verses  yet  published,  and  believed  to  be  complete  up  to  date. 

The  verse  commencing  "  From  the  courts  of  death  and  danger,"  was  added  after  the  death  of  the  author,  who  laid  down  his 
life  for  his  country  in  Florida  some  thirty-five  years  ago.  Toward  the  close  of  the  poem  are  verses  upon  the  death  of  the  brave 
McKiNNEY,  and  BENNY,  the  subject  of  the  piece,  whose  death  in  May  of  '77  sent  a  pang  through  many  an  officer's  heart;  for  few 
of  the  older  graduates  are  there  who  can  lay  their  hands  on  their  sword-hilts  and  swear  they  have  never  been  to  BENNY'S. 

Perhaps   the  greatest  admirer   the  immortal  BENNY  had  among   the  Cadets  was  the  poet  EDGAR  A.  POE,  who  was    dismissed 
before  completing   his  course.     POE  was    perfectly  infatuated  with  the   old  joker,  and  would   steal  away  from   the  Academy  and 
sit  from    morning  until  night   conversing  with  his   host  and  drawing  out   the  old   man's   peculiarities  of  character.     BENNY  used 
to  relate  many  interesting  anecdotes  of  the  poet,  and  was  a  great  a'hnirer  of  the  "Raven." 
47 


I 
y 

o 


a 
w 


P       H 


w 
z 


? 


BENNY    HAVENS.    OH! 

AIR — Wearing  of  the  Green. 
A  SONG  THAT  is  SUNG  BY  THE  SOLDIERS  OF  UNCLE  SAM. 

COME,  fill  your  glasses,  fellows,  and  stand  up  in  a  row ; 
To  singing  sentimentally,  we're  going  for  to  go ; 
In  the  army  there's  sobriety,  promotion's  very  slow, 
So  we'll  sing  our  reminiscences  of  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !     Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 
So  we'll  sing  our  reminiscences  of  Benny  Havens,  oh ! 

Now  Roe's  Hotel's  a  perfect  "  fess,"  and  Cozzens's  all 

the  go, 

And  officers  as  thick  as  hops  infest  "  The  Falls  "  below ; 
But  we'll  slip  them  all  so  quietly,  as  once  a  week  we  go 
To  toast  the  lovely  flower  that  blooms  at  Benny  Havens, 

oh! 

Oh!  Benny  Havens,  oh!  etc. 

Let  us  toast  our  foster-father,  the  Republic,  as  you  know, 
Who  in  the  paths  of  science  taught  us  upward  for  to  go  ; 
And  the  maiden,  of  our  native  land,  whose  cheeks  like 

roses  glow, 
They're  oft  remembered  in  our  cups,  at  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

49 


To  the  ladies  of  the  Empire  State,  whose  hearts,  and 
albums  too, 

Bear  sad  remembrance  of  the  wrongs  we  stripling 
soldiers  do, 

We  bid  a  fond  adieu,  my  boys ;  our  hearts  with  sorrow 
flow; 

Our  loves  and  rhyming  had  their  source  at  Benny  Ha 
vens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

And  when  in  academic  halls,  to  summer  hops  we  go, 
And  tread  the  mazes  of  the  dance  on  the  light  fantastic 
toe, 

We  look  into  those  sunny  eyes,  where  youth  and  pleas 
ure  glow, 

And  think  ourselves  within  the  walls  of  Benny  Havens, 
oh! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

To  the  ladies  of  the  orange  clime,  let  all  our  bumpers 

flow  ; 
Who  dares  gainsay  their   peerless  charms  must  take-  a 

knightly  blow. 
We'll  throw  the  gauntlet  in  their  cause  and  taunt  the 

soulless  foe 
Who  hesitates  to  drink  to  them  at  Benny  Havens,  oh ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


Of  the  lovely  maids,  with  virgin  lips,  like  roses  dipped 
in  dew, 

Who  are  to  be  our  better  halves,  we'd  like  to  take  a  view. 

But  sufficient  to  the  bridal  day  is  the  ill  of  it,  you  know, 

So  we'll  cheer  our  hearts  with  chorusing  at  Benny  Ha 
vens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

To  the  ladies  of  our  Army  our  cups  shall  ever  flow, 
Companions  of  our  exile,  and  our  shield  'gainst  every  woe ; 
May  they  see  their  husbands  Generals,  with  double  pay 

also, 
And  join  us  in  our  choruses  at  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

Tis  said  by  commentators,  when  to  other  worlds  we  go, 
We  follow  the  same  handicraft  we  did  in  this  below ; 
If  this  be  true  philosophy — the  sexton  he  says  "  No  !"- 
What  days  of  song  and  dance  we'll  have  at  Benny  Ha 
vens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


Come  fill  up  to  our  Generals,  God  bless  the  brave  heroes, 
They're  an  honor  to  their  country,  and  a  terror  to  their 

foes  ; 
May  they  long  rest  on  their  laurels,  and  trouble  never 

know, 
But  live  to  see  a  thousand  years  at  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

Here's  a  health  to  General  Taylor,  whose  "rough  and 

ready"  blow 

Struck  terror  to  the  rancheros  of  braggart  Mexico; 
May  his  country  ne'er  forget  his  deeds,  and  ne'er  forget 

to  show 
She  holds  him  worthy  of  a  place  at  Benny  Havens,  oh! 

Oh !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

To  the  "  veni,  vidi,  vici "  man,  to  Scott,  the  great  hero, 
Fill  up  the  goblet  to  the  brim,  let  no  one  shrinking  go ; 
May  life's  cares  on  his  honored  head  fall  light  as  flakes 

of  snow, 
And  his  fair  fame  be  ever  great  at  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !   Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


From  the  courts   of   death  and  danger,  from   Tampa's 

deadly  shore, 

There  comes  a  wail  of  manly  grief,  "  O'Brien  is  no  more ;" 
In  the  land  of  sun  and  flowers  his  head  lies  pillowed  low, 
No  more  he'll  sing"  Petite  Coquette,"  or  Benny  Havens, 

oh! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

To  the  Army's  brave  commanders  let  now  our  glasses 
flow, 

We'll  drink  to  Grant  and  Sherman,  and  to  the  "subs" 
also, 

To  Thomas,  Meade,and  Sheridan  (these  come  in  apropos); 
We'll  toast  them  all  with  goblets  full,  at  Benny  Havens,  oh! 
Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !.  etc. 

Tis  a  proverb  that  "  Republics  to  their  veterans  thank 
less  grow," 

And  to  youth  of  service  oft  awards  only  an  age  of  woe ; 
But  if  a  lowly  station  most  honor  doth  bestow, 
Give  me  the  one  now  occupied  by  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 
Oh!  Benny  Havens,  oh!  etc. 


To  our  regiments,  now  fellows,  we  all  must  shortly  go, 
And  look  as  sage  as  parsons  when  they  talk  of  what's 

below ; 

We  must  cultivate  the  graces,  do  every  thing  "just  so," 
And  never  speak  to  ears  polite  of  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

Let  us  remember,  comrades,  when  to  our  posts  we  go, 
The  ties  that  must  be  cut  in  twain,  as  o'er  life's  sea  we 

row  ; 
Hearts  that  now  throb  in  unison  must  moulder  down 

below, 
So  let  us  take  a  parting  cup  at  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

To  our  comrades  who  have  fallen,  one  cup  before  we  go, 
They  poured  their  life-blood  freely  out  pro  bono  publico  ; 
No  marble  points  the  stranger  to  where  they  rest  below, 
They  lie  neglected  far  away  from  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


You  veterans  on  the  "half-pay  list"  in  quiet  ease  should 

g°- 
And  suffer  us  subalterns  up  a  grade  or  two  to  row, 

Award  each  State  a  regiment  of  Regulars,  you  know,— 
Their  officers  are.  chosen  ones  from  Benny  Havens,  oh ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

May  we  never  lack  a  smile  for  friend,  nor  stern  heart  for 

a  foe ; 

May  all  our  paths  be  pleasantness  wherever  we  may  go  ; 
May  our  "  Muster-rolls  "  in  after  years  report  mstatu  quo, 
And  goodly  samples  ever  bring  from  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

May  the  Army  be  augmented,  promotion  be  less  slow ; 
May  our  country  in  the  hour  of  need  be  ready  for  the  foe ; 
May  we  find  a  soldier's  resting-place  beneath  a  soldier's 

blow, 
With  space  enough  beside  our  graves  for  Benny  Havens, 

oh! 

Oh!  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


When  you  and  I,  and  Benny,  and  all  the  others,  too, 
Are  called  before  the  "  final  board  "  our  course  of  life  to 
view, 

May  we  never  "fess"  on  any  point,  but  straight  be  told 
to  go 

And  join  the  Army  of  the  Blest  at  Benny  Havens,  oh ! 

• 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

Another  star  has  faded,  we  miss  its  brilliant  glow, 

For  the  veteran  Scott  has  ceased  to  be  a  soldier  here 
below ; 

And  the  country  which  he  honored  now  feels  a  heart 
felt  woe, 

As  we  toast  his  name  in  reverence  at  Benny  Havens,  oh  ! 
Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

To  our  kind  old  Alma  Mater,  our  rock-bound  Highland 

home, 
We'll  cast  back  many  a  fond  regret,  as  o'er  life's  sea  we 

roam, 
Until  on  our  last  battle-field  the  lights  of  heaven  shall 

glow, 

We'll  never  fail  to  drink  to  her  and  Benny  Havens,  oh ! 
Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


And  if  amid  the  battle  shock  our  banner  e'er  should  trail, 
And  hearts  that  beat    beneath  its  folds    shall   faint  or 

basely  fail, 

Then  may  some  son  of  Benny's  with  quick  avenging  blow, 
Lift  up  the  flag  we  loved  so  well  at  Benny  Havens,  oh ! 

Oh!  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

When  this  life's  troubled  sea  is  o'er,  and  our  last  battle's 
through, 

If  God  permits  us  mortals  then   His  blest  domain  to 
view, 

Then  shall  we  see  with  glory  crowned,  in  proud  celestial 
row, 

The  friends  we've  known  and  loved  so  well  at  Benny 
Havens,  oh  ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


Here's  a  cup  to  brave  McKinney,  and  all  who  like  him 

die ; 

Their  souls  upon  the  battle  smoke  ascend  the  upper  sky. 
May  the  angels  there  attend  him  and  show  him  where 

to  go, 

And    join    his    comrades    gone    before,    with     Benny 
Havens,  oh ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 

In  silence  lift  your  glasses :  A  meteor  flashes  out. 

So  swift  to  death  brave  Custer,  amid  the  battle's  shout 

Death  called — and,  crowned,  he  went  to  join  the  friends 

of  long  ago 
To  the  land  of  Peace,  where  now  he  dwells  with  Benny 

Havens,  oh ! 

Oh !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


We  drop  a  tear  for  Harrington,  and  his  comrades,  Ouster's  braves, 
Who  fell  with  none  to  see  the  deeds  that  glorified  their  graves. 
May  their  memories  live  forever,  with  their  glory's  present  glow  ; 
They've  nobly  earned  the  right  to  dwell  with  Benny  Havens,  oh ! 

Oh  !  Benny  Havens,  oh  !  etc. 


53 


SEQUEL. 

COME,  fellows,  let  us  join  once  more,  ere  to  our  homes 

we  go, 

And  give  a  parting  requiem  to  "  Benny  Havens,  oh  !" 
Our  fathers  worship'd  at  his  shrine,  in  days  long,  long  ago, 
Then  why  should  we,  their  faithful  sons,  not  love  our 

"  Havens,  oh  !" 

The  spirit  of  the  olden  grey,  with  boys,  'tis  folly,  true  ; 
But  then  it  proves  "  Esprit  de  Corps"  when  clothed  in 

Army  blue. 

Then  in  the  path  our  fathers  trod  let  us  not  fail  to  go : 
If  it  lead  to  fame  and  glory,  or  "  Benny  Havens,  oh !" 

Their  names  shall  sacred  to  us  be  for  deeds  done  long  ago  ; 
For  they  are  graved  with  gold  and  red  on  azure  blue, 

you  know : 

And  as  on  us  their  mantles  fell,  our  gratitude  we'll  show, 
By  life  remembrances  of  them  and  "  Benny  Havens,  oh!" 

Genial    Barbour,    brave     Mudge    and     Inge,    oft    went 

through  drifted  snow, 
To  have  an  hour's  pleasant  chat,  and  make  the  spirits 

flow : 

Clay,  Crittenden,  and  legions  more,  could  never  give  a  NO, 
When    asked    to    share    the    friendly  cheer   of  "  Benny 

Havens,  oh  !" 
54 


Did  Ringgold's  flying  battery  e'er  make  its  aim  too  low — 
Did  Duncan's  ready  howitzers  e'er  fail  to  reach  the  foe — 
Did  Canby  brave,  or  Custer  bold,  e'er  dread  Modoc  or 

Sioux — 
Because  oidark  or  moonlight  raids  on  "  Benny  Havens,  oh  ?" 

From  Nevada's  hoary  ridges,  from  stormy  coast  of  Maine, 
From  Lava  beds  and  Yellowstone  the  story  never  waned : 
Wherever  duty  called  they  went,  their  steps  were  never 

slow — 
With  "ALMA  MATER"  on  their  lips,  and  "  Benny  Havens, 

oh!" 

Their  blood  has  water'd  Western  plains,  and  Northern 

wilds  of  snow, 
Has  stained  Sierra's  highest  peaks,  where  piercing  winds 

e'er  blow ; 
Has  dyed  deep  red  the  Everglades,  and  deeper  still,  you 

know, 
The  sacred  Montezuma  shades  and  walls  of  Mexico 

But  now  the  soften'd  summer  winds  come  whisp'ring  to 

us  low 
That  HE  of  whom  we  oft  have  sung,  Death's  hand  lies 

on  his  brow  ! 

These  granite  hills  surrounding  us,  by  sun  all  set  aglow, 
To  THEM,  are  guardian  angels, and  to"BENNY  HAVENS.OH  !" 


FIRST    NIGHT    ON     POST. 

WICKLIFFE. '72. 


ALONG  his  post  the  sentry  walks, 

With  slow  and  measured  tread, 
While  visions  of  "  Yanking"  ceaslessly  flit 

Through  his  tired  and  aching  head, 

Till  he  drives  them  off  with  thoughts  of  home, 

Of  the  loved  ones  far  away, 
With  fruitless  thoughts  of  the  time  of  night, 

And  the  useless  wish  for  day. 

He  thinks  of  his  happy  western  home, 
The  scenes  of  his  childhood's  views, 

Of  his  mother's  smile,  of  his  playmates'  shouts 
"  Who  comes  there  ?"  a  pair  of  shoes. 

/ 

He  thinks  of  the  blue  eyed  girl  he  left, 

Whom  he'll  on  furlough  find, 
With  the  same  true  heart,  the  same  old  love : — 

When  somebody  grabs  him  behind. 


55 


He  wrenches  loose,  still  walks  his  post, 
Still  thinks  of  his  blue  eyed  witch, 

When  somebody  tumbles  him  into  a  barrow, 
And  trundles  him  off  to  the  ditch. 

He  scrambles  out,  and  resumes  his  beat, 

And  thinks  as  he  walks  his  post, 
Of  the  many  friends  of  Auld  Lang  Syne— 

"  The  devil !  Is  that  a  ghost  ?" 

He  thinks  of  the  loved  ones  who  have  left 

This  troublesome  world  below, 
And  thinks  that  they  visit  their  friends  behind, 

In  this  vale  of  sorrow  and  woe. 

Then  a  distant  stir  on  the  midnight  air 

Confirms  this  fond  belief, 
Till  he  listens  awhile,  and  then  exclaims, 

"Thank  God!  Tis  the  Third  Relief." 


SAME    AT    SAME. 


A  SIMPLE  "  cit."  in  modest  garb — 

I  shall  not  call  his  name- 
To  West  Point  went  some  years  ago 

To  enter  same  at  same. 

He  packed  his  trunk  and  bid  good-bye 

To  mother,  gentle  dame  ; 
His  Betsy's  eyes  were  red  that  day, 

And  his  were  same  at  same. 

His  journey's  end  at  last  was  reached, 

To  the  office  soon  he  came ; 
The  corp'rals  met  him  at  the  door 

Before  he'd  entered  same. 

His  "  prelim."  passed,  they  drilled  him  then 

Until  his  back  was  lame  ; 
He  spent  his  summer  in  the  camp 
"  Policing"  same  at  same. 


With  "  Math."  and  French  he  spent  two  years, 

Then  "  Dade"  he  tried  to  tame, 
Who  threw  him  in  the  bark  one  day 

As  he  rode  same  at  same. 

His  furlough,  long  desired,  arrived  ; 

With  buttons  all  aflame, 
He  swelled  about  a  few  short  weeks, 

And  spoiled  the  same  at  same. 

A  second  class-man,  "  Phil.,"  arrived, 
And  "  Chem."  came  in  the  game  ; 

From  Feb.  to  May  he  tactics  had, 
And  played  with  same  at  same. 

Through  "first-class  camp"  and  "first-class  year" 

He  onward  pressed  to  fame ; 
A  brand  new  suit  in  June  he  donned, 

And  "  hung  up  "  same  at  same. 


57 


"  HIS    '  PRELIM.'    PASSED,    TIIKY    DRILLED    HIM    THEN    UNTIL    HIS    HACK    WAS    LAME.'' 


MON     CADET. 

BY     A     LADY     VISITOR. 


O  MOX  Cadet,  mon  joli  Cadet, 

With  his  pretty  gold  buttons  and  rollicking  way, 

With  his  smile  for  the  ladies,  his  stars  for  the  beaux, 

The  pet  of  the  ladies  wherever  he  goes  ; 

Swaggering,  swinging,  hurrying  past, 

No  thought  of  the  future,  no  thought  of  the  past ; 

Carelessly  happy,  mon  beau  debonnaire  ; 

Que  je  t'aime,  mon  beau  militaire  ! 

O  mon  Cadet,  mon  joli  Cadet, 
Straight  as  an  arrow,  lithe  as  a  fay, 
Fickle  as  fortune,  inconstant  as  chance, 
Light  as  a  fairy  when  leading  the  dance  ; 
Sliding,  gliding,  whirling  we  go, 
Murm'ring  sweet  nothings  so  softly  and  low, 
Carelessly  graceful,  mon  beau  debonnaire  ; 
O  que  je  t'aime,  mon  beau  militaire  ! 


O  mon  Cadet,  mon  joli  Cadet, 

Now  silent  and  thoughtful,  now  joyous  and  gay  ; 

Never  dull,  never  harsh,  never  stupidly  good, 

With  his  laughing  eyes  saying,  "  I  would  if  I  could ;" 

Whispering,  caressing,  kissing  me,  too, 

In  spite  of  my  anger,  for  what  can  I  do  ? 

He  so  strong  and  so  earnest;  and  then  I  don't  care; 

O  que  je  t'aime,  mon  beau  militaire  ! 

O  mon  Cadet,  mon  joli  Cadet, 

How  I  will  weep  when  he  goes  away, 

Out  on  the  plains  'midst  danger  and  strife, 

While  all  I  can  do  is  to  pray  for  his  life ; 

Watching,  weeping,  waiting  the  day 

That  shall  bring  him  again,  no  more  mon  Cadet, 

But  my  soldier,  my  lover,  my  joy,  and  my  care  ; 

Je  t'adore,  mon  beau  militaire  ! 


59 


AIR —    Dot  Lee  tie  German  Hand. 
GOODE '79. 

Now  give  me  your  extensions  und  listen  vat  I  say, 

I  am  dot  deutcher  kadett  on  dot  old  U.  S.  M.  A., 

My  name  vas  Jacob  Schweinfleisch,  und  fon   Hoboken 

I  came ; 
Mine  fader  vas  a  deutcher  man,  my  moder  vas  de  same. 

CHORUS. 

0  !  I  ain't  cut  out  for  a  soldier  on  de  army, 
Und  I  dink  I  vill  go  heim  ; 

1  like  much  petter  trinking  peer 

As  boning  in  dem  barracks  all  der  time, 
Und  I  schpend  my  time  a  valkin'  on  dot  area 
Schkaturday  afternoon, 
Vile  all  der  rescht,  dressed  in  dere  bescht, 
Goes  out  on  der  blain  to  schpoon. 

Ven  I  first  landed  on  dot  Point  I  dought  I  vill  go  mad, 
Dose  fellows  in  dot  office  dere  dey  stand  me  off  my  head ; 
Dey  told   me  vat  my  name  it  vas,  und  got  my  hands 

around, 
Und  say  off  I  don't  prace  me  up  dey'll  vipe  me  off  de 

ground. 

Cho. — O  !   I  ain't  cut  out  for  a  soldier,  etc. 


60 


Now  ven  I  got  me  on  dot  camp  I  vas  almost  go  died. 
Dose  fellows  turn  me  alvays  out  'bout  four  dimes  efery 
night ; 

Dey  make  me  tighten  tent  cords'  up  ven  it  vas  pouring 
rain, 

Urid  on  de  morning  I  go  out  to  schwad  trill  on  dot  blain. 
Clio. — O !   I   ain't  cut  out  for  a  soldier,  etc. 

Dey  put  me  in  dot  awkward  schkoad,  I  vas  so  offul  gross, 
Dot  fellow  he  schkin  me  efery  day  I  don't  oxpress  my 
toes  ; 

He  give  me  second  exercise  so  long  vat  I  can  go, 

Und  den  he  give  de  schkoad  "  place  rest,"  und  cussed  me 

out  for  slow.     Cha 
in  about  dree  weeks  I  vent  on  guard,  und  I  vas  offul  broud, 
I  dry  to  got   me  schpooney  up  das    I    don't  got  cussed 

oudt, 
I  glean  my  gun  und  fix   my  belts,  und  den  I  plack  my 

schkoes, 

But  ven  dot  drum  peat  I  vas  late,  dot  vaste  pelt  come 
unloose.      Clio  — 

Now  ven  I  got  me  on  my  post  I  felt  so  offul  grand, 
Der  first  man  I  schkalluted  vas  de  leader  off  dot  pand  ; 
Dot  corporal  he  vas  schtanding  py,  und  saw  vat  I  did  do, 
Und  ven  he  came  to  cuss  me  out,  I  gave  him  "  present 
arms."  too. 
6 1 


I  dought  I  vill  pe  offul  prave  dot  night,  a  valkin'  post, 
Some  fellows  came  mit  proomsticks  out,  all  dressed  in 

vite,  like  goshs  ; 
I  told  dem, "  Who  goes  here  ?  "  und  called  dot  corporal 

mit  a  screetch, 
But   putty  soon  my  gun  vas  gone,  und   I  vas  on   dot 

deetch.     Clio— 

Ven  dot  furlough  class  came  ve  bushted  camp,  und  moved 

in  off  dose  barracks, 
Dey  put  me  up  four  flights  of  stairs  on  dot  chicken-cock 

loft  garrets  ; 

Most  all  my  dings  vas  lost,  und  I  vas  feeling  offle  blue  ; 
I  dumpled  me  town  dwo  flights  of  steps,  to  fall  in  mit 

tattoo. 

SECOXD    CHORUS. 

O !  I  schpend  my  time  a  valkin'  on  dot  area 

Schkaturday  afternoon, 

Vile  all  der  rescht,  dressed  in  dere  bescht, 

Mit  de  schpooney  femmes  goes  out  on  de  blain  to 

schpoon. 

I  schpend  my  time  a  valkin'  on  dot  area, 
Maybe  you'll  dink  dot's  fun 
To  valk  quite  late,  most  till  parade, 
Right  schkolder  mit  your  gun. 


NIGGER     JIM. 

HOWLAND '76. 


AIR— Little  Sam. 
'M  de  noted  cullud  Cadet, 

And  from  Dixie's  land  I  came, 
Whar  I  used  to  hoe  de  cotton  all  de  day — all  de  day ; 

But  I  pined  for  martial  glory, 

So  a  'pointment  I  did  get, 
And  I  went  and  joined  dis  old  U.  S.  M.  A.— U.  S.  M.  A. 

To  de  offis  I  did  go, 

Did  dey  hoop  me  up — oh,  no  ! 
And  since  dat  day  I'b  neber  had  no  rest , 

For  I'm  kicked  and  cussed  and  swore  at, 
.  I'm  "  pinked,"  and  no  help  for  it, 
And  I  marches  in  de  rear  rank  by  request — by  request. 

CHORUS  : 

I  hates  'em  all,  and  I  sits  alone, 
And  sings  dis  little  hymn  : 

I'm  de  noted  cullud  cadet ; 

I'll  be  found  in  "  Phil "  or  "  Chym'" 

I'm  "cut"  byeb'rybody, 

And  dey  calls  me  Nigger  Jim. 


Guard  duty  comes  to  me  quite  oft — 

I  march  on  twice  a  week, 
And  most  all  de  time  I  am  hall  orderly — hall  orderly. 

And  de  white  boys  spit  tobacco  juice 

Upon  de  floor  and  stairs ; 
So  "  demerits"  come  a  piking  unto  me — all  unto  me. 

Should  I  stub  my  toe  in  ranks 

I  would  certainly  get  "  pinked," 
For  to  pot  dis  nigger  makes  a  brilliant  "  hive." 

De  instructors  all  light  on  me, 

And  I  nebe'r  yet  saw  a  "  three," 

For  dey  say  de  nigger's  "  max"  is  but  "one  five" — is  but 
one  five. — Clio. 

Old  Davy's  dun  it  to  you  now, 

Dis  nigger  he  has  found  ; 

And  you  won't  see  any  more  of  dis  ere  chile — of  dis  ere 
chile. 

But  I'll  write  a  book  on  West  Point, 

And  for  Congress  I  will  run  ; 
And  I'll  engineer  a  bill  to  hang  old  Lyle — to  hang  old  Lyle. 

I  leabs  anoder  here 

For  to  take  my  place  in  ranks, 
At  de  old  familiar  tint  you'll  think  of  me ; 

You'b  but  lost  me  for  a  while  yet, 

For  a  "cit  a'pointment"  I'll  get, 
And  I'll  rank  you  in  de  nigger  infantry — infantry. — Clio. 


Upon  de  old  plantation 

How  I  wish  dat  I  had  stayed, 
And  not  come  here  to  wear  de  Cadet  grey — de  Cadet  grey. 

For  aldo  in  shining  buttons 

I  am  gorgeously  arrayed, 
I  must  work  from  reveille  till  close  of  day — till  close  of  day. 

When  I've  "boned"  dat  book  enough, 

Den  I  must  bone  dat  gun, 
And  much  cleaner  dan  de  white  boys'  must  it  be  ; 

Or  I'd  quick  be  "pinked"  by  Em'ry, 

And  for  red  rust  he'd  condemn  me 
On  next  Saturday  to  walk  de  A-ri-e — de  A-ri-e. —  Clio. 

Oh  !  now  I'b  got  de  bulge  on  you, 
I  ranks  you  all  dis  day  ; 

On  my  shoulder  shines  a  Gen'ral's  glitt'ring  star — glitt'ring 
star ; 

I  now  marches  in  de  front  ranks, 

While  you  close  up  in  de  rear, 
Wid  your  open  fields,  and  wearing  nary  bar — nary  bar. 

What  is  more  I  hah  a  wife, 

And  am  settled  down  for  life, 
While  you're  struggling  for  promotion  with  a  vim  ; 

You'll  be  frozen  in  Alaska, 

Or  be  sunstruck  in  Nebraska ; 

And  you'll  envy  your  old  comrade,  Nigger  Jim — Nigger 
Jim. — Cho. 


KEPT    BACK    ON    FURLOUGH. 

ROWLAND '76. 

AIR — Jeannette  and  jfeanot. 


A  FURLOUGH-MAN  one  morning  sat  weeping  in  his  room, 
He  had  no  "  cit."  clothes  on  him,  his  face  was  spread  with 

gloom  ; 
But  a  comrade  stood  beside  him  with  a  white  plug  hat 

and  cane, 
And  looked  with  careless  glances  at  the  tears  that  fell 

like  rain. 
The  "file"  in  grey  looked  on  him,  and  he _ took  his  old 

chum's  hand, 
And  he  said,  "  'Tis  many  days  ere  I  shall  see  my  native 

strand  ; 

And  I  sit  and  wipe  my  eye  while  my  heart  is  sick  and  sore, 
For  I'm  kept  back  on  furlough,  kept  back  ten  days  or 

more.  • 

Tell  my  schoolmates  and  companions,  when  they  meet  and 

crowd  around, 
To  hear  why  I'm  not  present,  for  perchance  they'll  think 

me  "  found  ;" 
Tell  them   I    hit  the  nigger,  or  did  "  devil "  some  poor 

"beast"- 
That  will  make  me  quite  a  hero — they'll  think  it  smart  at 


least. 


64 


Say  that  prison  doors  confine  me,  that  with  shackles  I 

am  bound. 
They  will  take  it  all  for  gospel,  and  when  me  they  see 

around, 
They  will  ask  about  my  escapades,  and  will  not  press 

me  sore 
Why  I  stayed  back  on  furlough,  stayed  back  ten  days  or 

more. 

Tell  my  parents  and  relations,  when  you  meet  them  on 

the  street, 

That  I've  got  hurt  at  riding,  or  have  Glisters  on  my  feet. 
Don't  let  them  know  the  reason  that  keeps  me  from  my 

home ; 

But  say  the  doctor  made  me  stay,  I  was  too  sick  to  come. 
And  when  they  see  your  chevrons,  say  that  I  have  got 

some,  too ; 
Thev'll  never  know  the  difference — you  can  stand  of  lies 

./  r 

a  few. 
Stuff  them  up  with  tales  of  bloodshed,  of  wading  deep  in 

gore; 
Don't  say  I'm  kept  from  furlough,  kept  back  ten  days 

or  more. 


Tell  my  sister  not  to  think  me  tight,  she's  seen  me  so 

with  pain, 
And  she'll  think  I'm  coming  home  dead-drunk  at  my  old 

tricks  again. 

She'll  imagine  me  a  lying  with  a  bottle  in  my  fist, 
In  the  cell  of  some  vile  prison  with  a  handcuff  on  my 

wrist. 

Many  times  I  was  arrested  when  at  home  I  was  about, 
And  got  taken  to  the  calaboose,  and  she'd  come  and  bail 

me  out. 
Say  I  stopped  to  help  the  crusade  on  some  benighted 

shore, 
Not  that  I'm  kept  back  from  furlough,  kept  back  ten 

days  or  more. 

And,  then,  there  is  another,  not  a  sister,  but  a  "  spoon  "- 
You'll  know  her  by  the  style  she  slings,  for  you  will  meet 
her  soon. 

She'll  be  waiting  'round  the  depot  for  to  greet  her  soldier 

boy, 
Her  poodle  dog  within  her  arms,  her  eyes  lit  up  with  joy. 


You  can  "  spoon  "  on  her  until  I  come,  and  if  she  curious 

be, 
Take  her  to  some  ice  cream  saloon,  and  charge  the  same 

to  me. 

Don't  answer  all  her  questions ;  I  would  sooner  die  before 
She  knew  I'm  kept  from  furlough,  kept  back  ten  days 

or  more. 

Last  night  I  dreamed  of  furlough,  I  thought  that  I   had 

gone 

With  all  the  other  furlough-men,  but  I  must  go  alone. 
There's  none  kept  back  so  long  as  I,  the  last  I  am  to  leave, 
That  dismal  camp,  those  drills,  that  guard,  'tis  tough  you 

may  believe. 

And  while  you're  taking  whiskey,  and  all  the  other  joys 
That  welcome  furlough  always  brings  to  us  grey-coated 

boys, 

I'm  sleeping  in  a  rain-soaked  tent,  upon  a  hard  pine  floor  ; 
For  I'm  kept  back  from  furlough,  kept  back  ten  days  or 

more." 


His  voice  grew  husky,  indistinct,  he  fell  back  in  his  gloom, 
His  comrade  borrowed  what  change  he  had,  and  quickly 

left  the  room ; 

And  away  unto  the  steamer  went  the  jolly  furlough  class, 
At  least  all  who'd  "demerits  boned,"  and  French  and 

Math,  did  pass. 
And  the    morning  sun   shone  brightly  down   on   that 

"  unpoliced  "  room, 
Where  that  poor  file  sat  weeping,  all  alone  and  wrapped 

in  gloom, 
The  expressman  came  round  barracks,  and  took  no  trunk 

from  his  door; 
For  he  was  kept  from  furlough,  kept  back  ten  days  or 

more. 


CHORUS. 

Why  are  we  kept  back  on  furlough  ! !  hey  ? 
'Cause  we  wouldn't  bone  demerit ! !  ha. 
That's  why  we're  kept  back  from  furlough  !  !- 


RETURN    OF   THE    FURLOUGH-MAN. 

"  ARE  we  almost  there  ?    Are  we  almost  there  ?" 

Said  a  "  furlough-man,"  as  he  came  back  from  home  ; 

"  Are  those  the  tents  I  see  up  there  ? 

And  is  that  the  cursed  old  'Library  dome'?" 

And  he  thought  of  the  terrible  "  reveille"," 
And  of  going  to  bed  at "  half-past  nine," 

And  he  thought  how  different  it  used  to  be 
When  he  used  to  get  tight  about  that  time. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  brandy  he  used  to  drink, 
And  the  cool  sherry  cobblers  in  glasses  so  tall ; 

Then  he  thought  how  his  heart  in  anguish  would  sink, 
And  his  nectar  be  turned  into  bitterest  gall. 

Then  he  thought  of  the  "  fare"  of  the  old  "  Mess  Hall," 
And  that  dirty  black  coffee  doled  out  by  the  gill, 

And  then — that  horrible  thought  of  all — 

That  he'd  have  to  "  bone  "  that  terrible  "  Phil." 

And  he  thought  how  "  Sammy  "  would  grin  with  glee, 
Like  a  tiger  that  seizes  his  prey  from  his  lair ; 

But  little  he  thought  his  first  act  would  be 
To  "  pink  "  him  instanter  for  "  wearing  long  hair." 


66 


THE     PLEBE'S     LAMENT. 
HOYLE. — '73. 


O  LORD  !  will  I  never  get  done 
Rubbing  on  this  rusty  gun  ? 

CHORUS. 

And  I  wish  I  was  at  home, 
And  I  wish  I  was  at  home. 

It  is  no  use  to  sigh  and  fret, 

Since  I  must  clean  this  bayonet. — Cho. 

But  how  intensely  do  I  hate 

To  polish  up  this  old  waist-plate. — Cho. 

67 


It  fills  my  heart  with  dire  alarms, 

The  order  of  "  Inspection  Arms  !" — Cko. 

Long,  long  ago  I  got  my  fill 

Of  this  most  "  cussed  "  old  squad  drill. — Cko. 

Your  breast  throw  out,  your  heels  on  a  line, 
Or  I'll  give  you  some  more  double  time. —  Cho. 

Keep  your  face  straight  and  do  not  grin, 
Or  you  will  get  another  "  skin." — Cho. 


It  strains  my  arms,  and  makes  me  grunt, 

To  keep  the  palms  of  my  hands  to  the  front. —  Cho. 

Every  evening,  rain  or  shine, 

I've  got  these  "  darned  "  old  tents  to  line.— Cho. 

And  twice  a  day,  I  never  fail 

To  get  stuck  on  "  police  detail." — Cho. 

My  head  does  ache,  my  back  is  bent, 
Policing  this  "  first  classman's"  tent. — Cho. 


68 


When  this  camp's  o'er,  I'll  jump  a  rod, 

For  I'll  hear  no  more  of  that  "  tion  squad." — Cho. 

Long  have  I  prayed,  as  well  as  wept, 

For  the  coming  of  those  blessed  "  Seps." — Cho. 

The  old  Cadets  will  then  have  ceased 
To  call  this  "  Plebe  "  a  "  rabid  beast." 

CHORUS. 

And  I  wish  I  was  at  home, 
And  I  wish  I  was  at  home. 


THE    PLEBE'S    PRAYER. 

HOWE. '78. 

[A  Plebe  who  reported  in  the  spring  of  '76  put  in  a  permit  one 

day,  of  which  the  following  is  the  substance, 

if  not  the  text.] 

OH  !  please,  sir,  Mr.  Teacher, 

May  I  go  out  and  stray, 
Amid  the  towering  mountains, 

And  from  barracks  get  away? 

For  days  in  close  "  confinement  " 
You've  kept  me  from  the  air, 

My  muscles  now  are  growing  weak, 
My  health  this  doth  impair. 

Once  more  I'd  like  to  go  and  play 
Upon  the  bright  green  plain, 

And  see  the  various  trophies, 
And  the  tombs  of  heroes  slain. 

Oh  !  please  to  let  me  go,  sir, 

And  hereafter  I  will  try, 
To  keep  straight  forward  to  the  front, 

My  ever  wandering  eye. 

(Permit  not  approved?) 
69 


A   VALENTINE. 

(Found  in  a  Cadet's  Scrap-Book.) 

A  is  the  Academy  where  Charlie  staid  ; 

B  is  the  Belle  who  made  a  raid  ; 

C  is  the  Curl  he  asked  for  in  vain  ; 

D  is  the  Dame  he  wished  to  obtain ; 

E  is  the  Enemy  he  wished  so  to  fight ; 

F  is  the  Flirt  who  laughed  at  the  sight ; 

G  is  the  Glove  of  Perinot  kid  ; 

H  is  the  Hand  it  unkindly  hid ; 

I  is  the  Instep  so  natty  and  high  ; 

J  is  the  Jest  that  brought  light  to  the  eye ; 

K  is  the  Kool  way  in  which  he  could  talk  ; 

L  is  the  Lingering  down  "  Flirtation  Walk ;" 

M  is  the  Merry  way  she  could  smile  ; 

N  is  the  Nonsense  she  talked  meanwhile ; 

O  is  the  Offer  he  made  one  day; 

P  is  the  Pretence  which  turned  it  away ; 

Q  is  the  Quadrille  all  cadets  hate ; 

R  is  the  Redowa  they  dance  till  late ; 

S  is  the  "  Spooney,"  their  favorite  word ; 

T  is  the  "  Tattoo  "  that  always  is  heard  ; 

U  is  the  Upton  whom  they  all  love ; 

V  is  the  Valentine  I  send  to  my  dove ; 

W  is  the  Willow  that  hung  over  our  \yalk ; 

X  is  the  Xebec  in  which  they  sail  to  New  York ; 

Y  is  the  Yew  that  made  them  all  squack ! 


MY    OLD    REVEILLES. 


J.    R.    RIBLETT —  72. 


You  may  talk  of  your  gaiters  as  much  as  you  please, 
Their  beauty,  their  elegance,  comfort  and  ease  ; 
But  of  all  the  shoes  that  e'er  shoemaker  made, 
Not  a  word  that  is  better,  of  them  can  be  said, 
Than  cadets  will  say,  and  they'll  not  say  it  to  please, 
But  from  pure  honest  love  for  their  "  old  reveilles." 

In  long  years  ago  they  have  seen  their  best  day, 
And  tho'  full  of  holes,  I'll  not  throw  them  away, 
But  fondly  will  cherish,  though  the  "  uppers  "  wear  out, 
And  the  "  soles  "  are  all  ready  to  "  sail  up  the  spout," 
For  no  shoes  in  the  world  can  possess  so  much  ease 
For  my  poor  tired  feet  as  my  "  old  reveilles." 

Some  people  may  scoff,  and  at  sight  of  them  jeer, 
But  I  cling  to  them  still  for  old  memories  dear ; 
They  covered  my  feet  when  a  Plebe  in  distress, 
And  into  my  "  yearling  year  "  helped  me  to  press  ; 
They've  lasted  me  well,  and  if  Fate  decrees 
I'll  wear  them  forever,  "  my  old  reveille's." 


And  at  last  when  "  old  Patrick  "  shall  come  in  and  say, 
"  I'll  take  all  the  rimnants  that  ye'ez  thrown  away," 
And  bears  the  old  rubbish  to  the  pile  down  below, 
Along  with  the  rest  in  the  dust  and  the  snow, 
You'll  see  them  there  lying,  those  wonders  of  ease, 
Sad,  lonely,  neglected,  my  "  old  reveille's." 

Others  and  newer  will  take  their  old  place, 

And  with  plenteous  blacking  shine  smiles  in  my  face  ; 

My  feet  may  look  smaller,  feel  better  (perhaps), 

But  in  the  sweet  slumbers  that  come  "  after  Taps," 

Foremost  and  fairest  of  all  visions  that  please, 

Will  be  happy  fore-shadowings  of  my  "  old  reveilles." 

Let  them  go,  while  a  tear-drop  in  memory  flows 
Gently  down  from  my  eyelid,  and  rests  on  my  nose ; 
But  little  they'll  reck  of  my  sorrow,  or  pain, 
Nor  know  of  my  longing  to  greet  them  again  : 
While  over  their  resting  place  cold  winds  scatter  leaves, 
Let  them  peacefully  sleep,  my  "  old  reveille's. 


70 


HE    DONE    HIS    LEVEL    BEST. 

STEVENSON '78. 

WAS  he  a  bookin'  of  his  "  Phil," 

He  done  it  with  a  zest ; 
Was  he  a  bonin'  of  his  "  Chem," 

"He  done  his  level  best." 
If  he'd  a  reg'lar  scratch  to  go, 

He  never  took  no  rest ; 
Or  if  it  was  his  drawing  day 

"  He  done  his  level  best." 
If  he  was  prancing  on  his  post, 

He'd  think  of  his  warm  nest ; 
And  prayin'  for  the  next  relief, 

"  He  done  his  level  best." 
He'd  "yank  a  plebe"  clean  outen  ranks, 

And  cuss  like  all  possessed ; 
Then  put  him  back  and  show  him  how 

To  do  his  level  best. 
He'd  cuss  and  sing,  and  howl  and  smoke, 

And  dance  and  drink  and  jest ; 
And  "  max  "  and  "  fess  "  all  one  to  him, 

"He  done  his  level  best." 
Was  it  "  boning"  in  his  quarters, 

Was  it  being  coldly  "  fessed," 
In  barracks  or  in  section  room, 

"  He  done  his  level  best." 


ODE  TO  MADEMOISELLE  ANNA  LYTICAL. 

T.  B.  NICHOLS. '72. 

THE  most  enticing,  yet  offending, 
The  most  bewitching  and  heart-rending, 
The  maid  I  court,  and  yet  despise, 
The  one  for  whom  I  early  rise, 

Her  name  is  Anna  Lytica., 

Her  style  is  neat  and  critical ; 

But  though  I've  known  her  since  September, 

We've  nothing  pleasant  to  remember. 

I'm  wearing  all  my  life  away, 
I'm  dreaming  of  her  night  and  day, 
And  yet  I'd  give  my  head  to  be 
The  man  to  cast  her  in  the  sea. 

This  little  maid  I  often  search, 

Was  born  in  a  parabolic  church  ; 

I  often  think  it's  a  mistake, 

And  swear  she's  from  the  brimstone  lake. 

Oh  !  now  be  generous,  little  "  femme,1' 
And  let  me  have  a  single  theme ; 
And,  when  examination's  past, 
That  dream  of  you  shall  be  my  last. 


EPIGRAM, 
ON   JOSEPH    LOCKE,   INSTRUCTOR   OF  TACTICS. 

BY    CADET    EDGAR    ALLAN    FOE. 

JOHN  LOCKE  was  a  very  great  name; 

Joe  Locke  was  a  greater,  in  short ; 
The  former  was  well  known  to  Fame, 

The  latter  well  known  to  Report. 

WEST  POINT,  1830, 

28  SOUTH  BARRACKS. 


Ix  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-three, 
The  "  Plebes  "  went  on  a  deuced  spree, 
They  raised  the  devil  generally, 
And  fired  the  gun  in  the  Area. 


CHORUS. 

Twas  seventy,  seventy,  seventy-three, 
Oh  !  seventy,  seventy,  seventy-three, 
Twas  seventy-three,  yes,  seventy-three 
That  fired  the  gun  in  the  area. 

They  locked  us  up  in  the  old  guard-house, 
And  bade  us  be  as  still  's  a  mouse, 
But  we  whooped  and  had  a  mad  carouse, 
And  fired  the  gun  in  the  area. 

They  made  us  at  attention  stand, 
With  rifles  clasped  within  our  hand  ; 
We  swore  we'd  stand  the  stern  command, 
And  fire  the  gun  in  the  area. 

Th'  Officer,  said  he,  "  Now,  don't  you  see 
There  is  no  use  of  "  running  "  me  • 
I'll  make  you  stand  till  reveille", 
For  firing  the  gun  in  the  area. 

"And  if  you  rascals  don't  be  still, 
Of  punishment  you'll  get  your  fill ; 
I'll  take  you  out  on  the  plain  to  drill, 
For  firing  the  gun  in  the  area." 

CASEY. — '72. 


ONE    HUNDRED    DAYS    TO    JUNE. 

ROWLAND. '76. 


ONE  hundred  days  to  June, 

'Tis  not  much  longer  now, 
Ere  we  to  this  Academy 

Shall  make  our  farewell  bow  : 
Our  "  Noizet "  drawn,  our  studies  o'er, 

Free  from  all  toils  and  pains, 
We  happy  graduates  will  be, 

And  get  scalped  on  the  plains. 
We've  been  to  the  officers  most  kind ; 

Who  ever  before  did  see 
A  class  give  to  those  derned  old  beats 

A  nobby  Christmas-tree? 
And  then  to  please  their  tympanums, 

We  worked  like  all  creation 
To  give  them  in  the  Area 

A  New- Year's  celebration. 
Our  course  throughout  has  been  a  siege 

Between  us  and  the  bands 
Of  officers,  who  go  about 

With  "  skin-books  "  in  their  hands  ; 
To  puzzle  the  foe,  the  text-book  says, 

A  false  alarm  should  begin  ; 

74 


So  we  threatened  to  shoot  the  Battery  off, 

And  took  the  officers  in. 
This  area  we'll  undermine 

Where  we've  worn  out  our  shoes, 
And  under  the  "  angle  "  run  a  branch, 

And  light  a  big  star-fuse  ; 
I  think  'twould  surely  elevate 

Those  striped  legged  men, 
And  send  them  nearer  heaven 

Than  they'll  ever  be  again. 
Good-by  to  ditches — parapets ; — 

Tis  drawing  near  to  June. 
No  more  we'll  mine  Sebastopol, 

Nor  build  a  "  demi-lune." 
The  counterscarp  may  tumble  in, 

The  galleries — let  'em  went ; 
The  cavalier  can  taken  be, 

And  we  won't  care  a  cent. 
CHORUS — One  hundred  days  to  June  ; 
One  hundred  days  to  June — 

Oh  !  don't  it  tickle  old  "  '76  " 
To  sing  this  little  tune? 


SHOULDER-STRAPS. 


"  PRAY  tell  me,  mamma,  what  the  shoulder-straps  mean 
That  on  the  blue-coats  of  our  officers  gleam  ; 
You  know  they're  so  different,  now  why  should  it  be, 
That  not  even  the  uniform  buttons  agree? 

"  I've  noticed,  for  instance,  a  blank,  and  a  bar, 
Two  bars,  leaves  of  silver,  of  gold,  and  a  star, 
Two  stars,  and  an  eagle — now  what  may  it  mean, 
On  scarlet,  or  orange,  light  blue,  or  dark  green  ?" 

"  Now  listen,  my  daughter,  and  pray  take  heed, 
For  the  income  and  straps  of  a  beau  are  agreed  ; 
You  may  dance  with  a  leaf,  and  flirt  with  a  bar, 
But  reserve  your  best  smile  for  the  eagle  and  star. 

"  And  remember  the  fence  with  nothing  within 
Is  the  field  of  the  stripling,  whose  spurs  are  to  win  ; 
A  poor  Second  Lieutenant,  perchance  still  in  debt, 
For  the  clothes  he  wore  out  as  a  West  Point  Cadet. 

"And  if  on  the  field  a  bar  should  appear, 
Your  prudence,  my  darling,  should  lead  you  to  fear ; 
For  if  left  a  lone  widow,  the  pension's  so  small 
Your  gloves  and  first  mourning  would  swallow  it  all. 


"And  e'en  with  your  Captain,  who  flourishes  two, 
Don't  prefer  the  gay  line  to  the  Staff's  sober  blue ; 
For  the  difference  per  month,  in  the  matter  of  pay, 
Not  to  mention  the  forage,  quite  wiles  one  away. 

"  Next  in  order  are  leaves,  but  here  you  reverse 
Each  value  metallic  in  prose  and  in  verse ; 
For  though  gold  be  a  Major,  the  silvery  hue 
Marks  the  Lieutenant-Colonel,  on  scarlet  or  blue. 

"  Then,  over  the  forest,  beneath  the  bright  stars, 
Soars  the  eagle,  the  lord  of  the  leaves  and  the  bars ; 
Besides,  'tis  suggestive  of  eagles  that  fly 
When  the  wife  of  the  Colonel  her  bonnets  would  buy. 

"  Above  all,  my  darling,  still  honor  the  star, 
Though  it  shines  'neath  a  silver-head,  better  by  far 
To  catch  some  old  General  than  make  him  afraid, 
And  you  won't  be  the  first  to  command  a  brigade." 

— "  I've  heard  you,  dear  mother,  and  thought  it  all  o'er. 
My  heart's  with  the  lover  who  went  to  the  war ; 
You  know  the  poor  boy  has  not  even  a  bar, 
But  I'd  rather  be  his  than  the  bride  of  a  star." 


75 


TO   "SEVENTY-SIX." 

BAILEY '78. 


COMRADES  for  a  season,  and  fellows  in  suffering,  too, 

Tis  but  a  class  that  separates  old  "Seventy-eight"  from 
you  ; 

And  though  the  gulf  can  ne'er  be  passed  by  Time's  pro 
motion  slow, 

Friendship  and  remembrance,  too,  will  follow  where 
you  go. 

The    gentle    breeze    that  wafts   your    bark    across    life's 

waveless  sea, 

The  "  Eldorado  "  of  the  thought,  to  fame's  eternity, 
Will  bring  to  those  you  leave  behind  the  happiness  of 

knowing — 
Their    country's    fame  is   guarded  well    by  hearts  with 

honor  glowing. 

As  backward  on  our  course  of  life  we  turn  to  take  a  view, 
Mem'ry  will  point  to  "Seventy-six,"  and  ask  a  smile  for  you, 
For  the  Camp  of  "  Seventy-five,"  for  pleasures  shared 

together ; 
Which  formed  a  tie  that  will  not  break,  that  Death  alone 

can  sever. 


And  when  our  hops  you  cease  to  grace,  the  favored  of 

the  ladies 
(Lovelier  far  than  England's  dames,  or  pretty  girls  of 

Cadiz), 
We'll  whisper  to  their  pining  hearts  that  "Seventy-six" 

and  we 
Love  the  fair,  no  life  would  spare,  in  the  cause  of  chivalry. 

And  when  we  come  to  graduate,  and  leave  our  mountain 

home, 

To  try  the  storms,  the  calms  of  life,  and  o'er  its  sea  to  roam, 
We'll  ne'er  forget  that  "  Seventy-six  "  has  proudly  gone 

before, 
To  win  a  soldier's  laurel-wreath  on  the  Heliconian  shore. 

When  death  shall  come  to  crown  a  life  the  noblest  man 

can  live, 

Your  country  '11  pay  the  just  reward  her  duty  'tis  to  give, 
Of  tears  beside  a  soldier's  bier,  of  mourning  o'er  his  grave, 
Who  lived  and  died  in  Honor's  cause,  the  bravest  of  the 

brave. 


AN    OLD    CADET'S    ADVICE. 


COME  fellows,  and  list  to  instruction, 
Which  hereafter  may  answer  you  well ; 

Perhaps  it  may  stay  your  destruction 
By  the  dangerous  arts  of  a  helle. 

The  ladies — heaven  bless  their  fair  faces! 

Come  here  in  summer  time  sweet  ; 
Each  one  is  loaded  with  graces, 

And  all  have  Cadets  at  their  feet. 

They  smile  on  the  gallant  young  "  gray," 

Accept  all  his  offers  to  walk, 
And  he,  not  knowing  what  to  say, 

Allows  her  to  sustain  all  the  talk. 

Then  it's  "  Oh  !  I  so  love  the  Army, 

With  its  bugles,  and  drums  beating  loud, 

And  if  one  should  ever  ask  for  me, 
As  an  officer's  wife  I'd  be  proud. 

"  I  should  like  to  partake  of  his  honor, 

For  ever  stay  close  by  his  knees, 
And  read  him  nice  stories  from  '  Bonner,' 
When  he  might  lay  sick  with  disease. 

77 


"  I  should  so  love  a  life  on  the  prairie, 
.  If  my  husband  should  ever  there  go, 
And  would  never  complain  to  him,  nary, 
That  such  life  was  uncommonly  slow. 

"  If  we  ever  should  become  adjusted, 
At  a  station  where  parties  are  rife, 
I  should  never  appear  much  disgusted, 
Should  he  ask  for  a  dance  with  his  wife. 

"  I  would  never  once  flirt  with  another, 

.  Not  once  cause  my  husband  to  swear; 
I  would  never  once  write  to  my  mother, 
That  he  was  a  brute  and  a  bear. 

"  But,  alas !  there's  no  officer  sought  me, 

I  fear  that  I  never  shall  wed  ; 
For  rather  than  have  citizens  'round  me, 
I  declare  I  would  die  an  old  maid." 

The  Cadet  feels  silent  and  moody, 
His  heart  is  thumping  with  pain  ; 

He  thinks  of  the  three  years  of  study, 
Before  his  commission  he'll  gain. 


He  thinks  with  despair  of  his  fate, 

His  youth  appears  saddened  and  drear ; 

To  ask  such  an  angel  to  wait, 

Fills  his  bosom  with  doubt  and  with  fear. 

She  starts,  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 

Which  causes  his  fond  heart  to  ache, 
She  asks  for  a  "  button,"  and  sighs, 
"  I'd  prize  it  so  much  for  your  sake." 

With  a  sob  like  a  twenty-four  pounder, 
He  tears  one  from  over  his  heart, 

And  gives  it  with  bows  much  profounder, 
Than  a  dancer  could  ever  impart. 

In  fact  the  poor  fellow  is  captured, 
His  sleep  is  oft  broken  and  short, 

He  dreams  himself  wholly  enraptured, 
While  the  lady  is  only  in  sport. 

With  others  he's  very  retired, 

But  his  love  remains  constant  and  true, 
And  he  goes  to  bed  pretty  well  tired, 

When  his  drills  and  hers  are  all  through. 


78 


One  evening  the  moon  shining  brightly, 
He  calls  on  her  at  the  Hotel ; 

And  then  with  his  heart  beating  lightly, 
Commences  his  story  to  tell. 

He  tells  her — he  knew  but  to  love  her, 
And  has  dreamt  of  her  often  of  late ; 

Perhaps  she  will  say  he  may  have  her, 
As  he  has  only  three  years  to  wait. 

She  hears  him  a  moment,  through  pity, 
And  then  hopes  his  heart  he  will  mend  ; 

She's  engaged  to  a  man  in  the  city, 
But  she'll  always  remember  her  friend. 

He  leaves  her  with  feelings  of  sorrow, 

At  being  so  foully  deceived, 
But  he  goes  to  the  drill  on  the  morrow, 

With  his  feelings  greatly  relieved. 

He  takes  no  more  walks  on  "  Flirtation," 
His  slumbers  are  broken  no  more, 

He  has  found  a  divine  consolation, 
And  is  now  a  most  staunch  "  Bachelor." 


WEST    POINT. 


L.  C.  STRONG. 


'TWAS  commencement  eve,  and  the  ball-room  belle 
In  her  dazzling  beauty  was  mine  that  night, 

As  the  music  dreamily  rose  and  fell, 

And  the  waltzers  whirled  in  a  blaze  of  light. 

I  can  see  them  now  as  the  moonbeams  glance 
Across  the  street,  on  the  billowy  floor 

That  rises  and  falls  with  the  merry  dance 

To  a  music  that  floats  in  my  heart  once  more. 

A  long  half  hour  in  the  twilight  leaves 

Of  the  shrubbery — she  with  coquettish  face, 

And  dainty  arms  in  their  flowing  sleeves  • 
A  dream  of  satins,  of  love,  and  lace— 

In  the  splendor  there  of  her  queenly  smile, 

Through  her  two  bright  eyes,  I  could  see  the  glow 

Of  cathedral  windows,  as  up  the  aisle 
We  marched  to  a  music's  ebb  and  flow. 

All  in  a  dream  of  commencement  eve, 

I  remember  I  awkwardly  buttoned  a  glove 

On  the  dainty  arm  in  its  flowing  sleeve, 
With  a  broken  sentence  of  hope  and  love. 
79 


But  the  diamonds  that  shone  in  her  wavy  hair, 
And  the  beauty  that  shone  in  her  faultless  face, 

Are  all  I  recall  as  I  struggled  there, 
A  poor  gray  fly  in  a  web  of  lace. 

Yet  a  laughing,  coquettish  face  I  see, 

As  the  moonlight  falls  on  the  pavement  gray  ; 

I  can  hear  her  laugh  in  the  melody 

Of  the  waltz  and  music  across  the  way. 

And  I  kept  the  glove  so  dainty  and  small, 
That  I  stole  as  she  sipped  her  lemonade, 

Till  I  packed  it  away,  I  think  with  all 

Of  those  traps  that  I  lost  in  our  Northern  raid. 

But  I  never  can  list  to  that  waltz  divine, 
With  its  golden  measures  of  joy  and  pain, 

But  it  brings,  like  the  flavor  of  some  old  wine, 
To  my  heart  the  warmth  of  the  past  again. 

A  short  flirtation — that's  all  you  know, 

Some  faded  flowers,  a  silken  tress, 
The  letters  I  burned  up  long  ago 

When  I  heard  from  her  last  in  the  Wilderness. 


I  suppose  could  she  see  I  am  maimed  and  old, 

She  would  soften  the  scorn  that  was  turned  to  hate 

When  I  chose  the  bars  of  gray  and  gold, 
And  followed  the  South  to  its  bitter  fate. 


But  here's  to  the  lad  of  the  Union  blue, 

And  here's  to  the  boy  of  the  Southern  gray, 

And  I  would  that  the  Northern  Star  but  knew 
How  the  Southern  Cross  is  borne  to-dav. 


OUR    FOUR-O'CLOCKS! 


'Tis  four  o'clock  !  the  bugle  blows  ! 
And  whether  now  it  rains  or  snows, 
Or  fierce  winds  whistle  all  about, 
Be  sure  the  girls  will  all  be  out. 
What  is  this  strange,  mysterious  power 
That  thus  attends  this  mystic  hour  ? 
Why  does  it  call  the  lasses  all, 
No  matter  whether  great  or  small, 
To  pace  the  sidewalk  to  and  fro  ? 
Is  it  that  each  one  wants  a  beau, 
And,  anxious  for  some  dear  Cadet, 


Defies  the  wind  and  snow  and  wet  ? 
It  must  be  so,  for  ere  that  note 
Has  on  the  echoes  ceased  to  float, 
They  come  in  haste,  a  motley  crew, 
In  red,  in  pink,  in  black,  in  blue, 
And  joining  each  a  gallant  "gray," 
Soon  while  a  pleasant  hour  away. 
Each  day  they  come,  unfailing  come, 
And  stay  until  the  "  signal  drum," 
Which  all  their  proudest  wishes  knocks, 
And  drives  away  the  "  Four-o'clocks." 


So 


DESCRIPTION    OF    A    CADET    HOP. 


BY    A    SURVIVOR. 


'ROUND  the  room,  'round  the  room 
'Round  the  room,  onward, 
Like  a  teetotum 
Revolved  the  one  hundred. 

For  all  were  in  order, 
And  no  one  had  blundered, 
Onward  the  bright  brigade  ! 
"  All  around  !"  the  prompter  said  ; 
So  'round  and  'round  the  room 
Spun  the  one  hundred. 

'Round  then  the  bright  brigade, 
No  one  the  least  dismayed. 
None,  for  the  ladies  said 
They  never  blundered. 
Not  theirs  to  make  reply, 
Not  theirs  to  seem  too  shy, 
Theirs  but  fast  'round  to  fly ; 
So  'round  and  'round  the  room 

Whirled  the  one  hundred. 
Si 


Rose  all  their  arms  so  bare, 
Flew  all  their  skirts  in  air, 
Sweeping  those  sitting  there, 
Whirling  and  spinning,  while 
Lookers-on  wondered ; 
Trod  on  and  swept  along, 
Some  looking  quite  forlorn, 
Part  of  their  drapery  shorn, 
Till  they  have  reached  their  chairs, 
Spun  the  one  hundred. 

Gas-lights  to  right  of  them  ! 
Gas-lights  to  left  of  them  ! 
Gas-lights  above  them  ! 
By  glass  pendants  sundered. 
Laughing  and  blushing  so, 
At  seats  all  rushing  so  ; 
Heated  and  out  of  breath, 
And  from  the  figure  there, 
Now  all  have  reached  a  chair, 
Save  that  some  few  are  left 
Of  the  one  hundred. 


Oh,  that  enchanting  spin  ! 
When  will  the  next  begin  ? 
How  old  folks  wondered, 
How  can  they  labor  so  ? 
Is  that  true  pleasure,  oh, 
Lovely  one  hundred  ? 

J'AIME    LES    MILITAIRES. 

THE  joyous  dance  is  ended, 
And  lovely  ladies  stray, 

By  cavaliers  attended, 
To  where  the  fountains  play. 

With  Cupid's  gifts  o'er  laden 
Is  every  warrior  there, 

The  thought  of  every  maiden 

Is  '-J'aime  les  Militaires." 


It  is  the  old,  old  story; 

He  whispers  with  a  kiss, 
And  dazzles  with  war's  glory 

A  maid  as  fair  as  this. 
His  eyes  are  soft  and  tender, 

And  he  recks  with  earnest  care 
This  young  heart's  frank  surrender — 
Ah  !  "  J'aime  les  Militaires." 

And  if  he  should  but  win  it, 
Ah  !  poor  girl,  count  the  cost, 

The  rapture  of  a  moment— 
The  heart  forever  lost : 

He'll  ride  away  unheeding 
To  other  faces  fair, 

And  straightway  love  lies  bleeding — 
Yet  "J'aime  les  Militaires." 


General  Police  roll  call 


"/l^ore  lifelrfjoirhnuTionOTr 


PLEBE   CAMP.— BY  A  PI.F.HE. 


arrest. 


« Hal 


84 


PLEBE   CAMP.— (Continued.} 


85 


SHOWING  HOW  THE  WEIGHT  OF  A  PI.EBF.'S  GUN  INCREASES. 


ROMANCE    ON    THE    HUDSON.— 

(From  Harper's  Weekly.) 


NEVER  was  month  like  the  month  of  June, 
Her  wreath  of  roses  and  lovers'  moon. 

Think  ye  "  the  world  is  out  of  joint  ?" 

Then  watch  ye  the  shadows  of  old  West  Point ; 

See  how  they  fall  on  the  grassy  sward  ; 
Watch  them  lie  on  the  glittering  sword 

Of  the  eager  youth  who  longs  for  strife 
And  the  stern  delights  of  a  soldier's  life. 

Yonder  the  building  old  and  gray, 
Where  he  learned  the  warrior's  art  to  slay. 

Behind  are  the  hours  of  labor  done ; 
To-day  the  sweetness  of  triumph  won  ; 


But  sweetest  of  all,  the  tender  smile 
That  beams  on  a  fairer  face  the  while, 

As  the  tale  is  told  that,  ever  the  same, 
Fresh  beauty  wins  from  a  dream  of  fame. 

A  nameless  boy  is  her  lover  now, 

With  a  beardless  cheek,  and  a  childish  brow. 

Wait  till  the  fearful  war  drum  rolls : 
In  the  bitter  hour  that  tries  men's  souls 

He  will  win  the  honors  that  she  shall  wear, 
Till  her  woman's  heart  grows  proud  to  bear 

A  name  that  a  nation  loves  to  boast, 

And  writes  with  those  that  she  honors  most. 


There's  a  rapture  thrills  through  the  lips  that  kiss 
And  lisp  of  fame  in  a  scene  like  this. 


86 


REALITY    ON    THE    PLAINS. 


FAR  away  on  the  wild  frontier 
Stands  the  cot  of  the  pioneer. 

Loud  he  calls  to  the  soldier  bands, 
"  Drive  ye  the  savage  from  our  lands  !" 

The  word  is  given,  the  charge  is  led, 
And  the  red  soil  groans  with  martyr  dead. 

Hark  ye !  what  is  the  sound  that  swells? 
Crack  of  rifle  and  savage  yells ! 

Poisoned  arrow  and  hissing  shot 
Pour  from  the  ambush  thick  and  hot. 

Red  blood  flowing  from  manly  veins 
Dyes  with  crimson  the  burning  plains. 


Look  !  how  silent  a  brave  form  lies ! 

The  sun  glares  down  from  the  tearless   skies. 

No  soft  hand  touches  the  matted  hair, 
No  lips  of  woman  are  resting  there. 

Only  a  veteran,  stern  and  grim, 
Pauses  awhile  with  eyes  grown  dim. 

There's  a  pictured  face  on  the  blood-stained  grass, 
O'er  the  smiling  eyes  no  shadows  pass. 

There  are  other  eyes  that  are  dim  with  tears, 
That  will  smile  no  more  in  the  coming  years, 

That  turn  in  pain  from  the  cheerless  moon, 
As  the  weeks  bring  round  the  month  of  June, 


And  lips  that  whisper  a  simple  name 
That  has  never  run  on  the  blast  of  fame. 


THE    OLD    SOUTH    GATE. 

ON   THE   RETURN   OF   THE  FURLOUGH    CLASS   OF   '50. 
MRS.    GENERAL    WINFIELD    SCOTT. 

THERE'S  a  stir  in  "  Camp  Gaines,"  all  observers  may  see 
Tis  a  moment  of  interest,  a  moment  of  glee  ; 
Each  Cadet  has  turned  out,  every  tent  is  unmanned, 
They  pace  to  and  fro,  or  in  anxious  groups  stand. 
Some  object  thrice  welcome  they  seem  to  await, 
Whilst  all  eyes  turn  eagerly  toward  the  "  South  Gate." 

The  forbidden  "  South  Gate,"  where  Cadets  are  denied 

Their  exit  and  entrance,  where,  on  one  side, 

In  flaming  black  characters,  always  are  seen 

The  words,  "Shut  the  gate  !"  but  none  saying  "  Come  in." 

On  the  other,  in  ghastly,  white  letters,  appear 

The  four  horrid  syllables,  "  No  smoking  here  !" 

Oh,  answer,  ye  classes  !  what  may  ye  await, 

What  pleasure  approaches  you  thro'  the  "  South  Gate  ?" 

The  "  Furloughs  "  are  coming,  and  now  must  be  near. 
There  is  dust,  there  is  shouting,  the  '"  Furloughs'  are 

here ;" 
They  are  here !  how  they  cheer  as  their  comrades  they 

hail! 

88 


At  their  sight  what  delight  and  affection  prevail ! 
How  rush  they!  how  yell  they  !  with  arms  intertwined, 
To  be  pressed  to  each  breast,  each  breast  true  and  kind. 
Such  pleasure  at  meeting  good  fellows  await, 
Then  haste  ye  to  gaze  thro'  the  distant  "  South  Gate." 

Ye  privileged  men,  ah  !  ye  are  "  Furloughs  "  no  more, 
Whom  that  portal  admits,  but  opes  not  to  the  "  Corps," 
And  who  deem  this  the  happiest  day  of  their  lives ; 
"  Alexander,"  "  Wright,"  "  Bonaparte,"  Musical  "  Ives," 
"  Pose,"  "  Casey,"  "  Smith,"  "  Sheridan,"  "  Morgan,"  "Van 

Vost," 

Each  now  "  Second  Classmen,"  all  hail  to  your  post ! 
May  your  duties  be  followed  with  ardor  as  great 
As  you  felt  when  so  gayly  you  passed  the  "  South  Gate." 

We  welcome  you  back  to  the  Camp  and  the  Plain, 
Where  your  favorite  "  Glitz  "  will  soon  drill  you  again. 
Oh !  blessed  among  students,  you  now  may  remain, 
Without  fear  of  being  wasted  by  "  sparkling  champagne," 
Cigars  or  late  hours,  or  unwholesome  rich  food, 
While  with   knowledge  your  minds  shall  be  daily  im 
bued. 

May  you  ever  be  happy,  at  each  turn  of  fate, 
As  when  you, blithe"  Furloughmen,"  passed  the  "  South 
Gate." 


A    CADET    "HASH." 


ONE  Saturday  eve,  a  short  time  ago, 
Three  gallant  Cadets  both  cautious  and  slow, 
With  eyes  on  the  watch,  went  creeping  around 
A  certain  one's  yard  where  chickens  abound. 

They  thoroughly  searched  through  brier  and  brake, 
But  never  a  fowl,  cock,  gobbler,  or  drake, 
Hobgoblin,  or  goose,  except  in  the  yard, 
Was  seen  by  the  three :   which  really  was  hard ; 

And  'specially  so  as  hundreds  or  more 
Just  inside  the  yard,  and  under  the  door 
Were  cackling  aloud,  or  stalking  about, 
Or  lying  in  groups  or  heaps  on  the  ground. 

But  "  Gray-coats,"  you  know,  a  bountiful  stock 

Of  patience  possess  so  down  on  a  rock 

They  quietly  sat  to  wait  for  awhile, 

Till  Fortune  should  grant  them  her  favoring  smile. 


Nor  waited  in  vain,  for  just  as  the  sun 
Went  down  to  his  rest  all  fiery  and  dun, 
A  gallant  old  cock,  in  majesty  great, 
\Vith  widely  spread  wings  flew  over  the  gate. 

He  cackled  and  clucked,  and  crowed  with  a  voice 
That  made  the  Cadets  look  up  and  rejoice, 
As  loudly  it  rang  on  the  mountain  and  plain, 
And  summoned  his  wives  to  join  him  again. 

And  onward  he  came  as  haughty  and  grand 
As  if  he  alone  were  ruling  the  land  ; 
Oft  spreading  his  tail  and  flapping  his  wings, 
And  feeling,  no  doubt,  as  great  as  a  king. 

But  woe  unto  him,  that  crow  was  his  last, 
For  one  of  our  friends  most  cruelly  cast 
Direct  at  his  crest,  a  most  ponderous  stone, 
And  true  to  his  aim  the  missile  was  thrown. 


89 


The  laws  of  the  art  he  had  studied  in  "  Phil.," 
And  knew  just  exactly  the  manner  to  kill : 
Then  wonder  no  more,  friends,  whenever  you  hear 
How  fowls  on  the  "  Point"  so  oft  disappear. 


They  rushed  to  the  spot  and  seized  on  their  prey, 

And  under  a  cape  soon  stowed  him  away ; 

And  hurrying  home  they  thought  with  delight 

Of  the  "  time  "  they  would  have  in  Barracks  that  night 

And  when  sable  night  had  come  with  her  gloom, 
They  went  to  the  wood  near  the  Commandant's  room 
And  gathered  some  chips,  some  splinters  and  sticks, 
And  took  from  a  pile  an  armful  of  bricks. 

The  bricks  were  arranged  in  two  double  rows, 
The  purpose  is  plain,  of  course,  I  suppose, 
For  just  in  between  them  the  fire  was  made, 
And  over  the  fire  the  frying  pan  laid. 

All  this  you  know  was  done  after  "taps," 
When  the  other  Cadets  were  taking  their  naps, 
While  over  the  door  and  window  beside, 
A  couple  of  quilts  securely  were  tied. 

And  over  the  floor  these  careful  adepts, 
The  blankets  had  laid,  to  muffle  their  steps  ; 
And  this  being  done  as  soon  as  they  could, 
They  struck  up  a  light  and  kindled  the  wood. 


90 


Then  one  of  these  three  who  acted  as  cook,. 
Got  down  an  old  bag,  and  from  it  he  took 
Some  butter,  and  salt,  and  pepper,  and  bread, 
And  then  the  old  cock  of  which  we  have  read. 

How  the  cock  was  obtained  you  have  certainly  heard, 
The  rest,  without  asking  leave,  license,  or  word, 
They  "  stole  "  from  the  "  mess,"  or  "  hived  "  as  they  say 
In  tumblers,  and  cups  at  dinner  that  day. 

They  mixed  in  a  trice,  in  a  general  mass, 
The  comfits  above  and  hastened  to  pass,  \ 
The  mass  from  the  wash-bowl  into  the  pan, 
And  blew  up  the  fire  with  "  Phil."  for  a  fan. 

It  simmered  and  stewed,  and  fizzled  and  fried, 
Till  "  cook  "  had  declared, — the  boasting  of  pride, — 
Twas  done  to  a  "  T,"  and  giving  a  grin 
He  vowed  'twas  the  best  he  ever  had  seen. 

Ah !  there  was  a  dream  of  revelry  then, 
As  over  the  "  hash  "  these  jovial  men 
Did  stand  to  inhale  its  savory  smell, 
And  all  was  merry  as  a  marriage  bell. 

91 


But  hark !  there's  a  sound  like  a  rap  on  the  door ! 
That  faintly  comes  up  from  the  lowermost  floor ; 
"  Did  ye  not  hear  it  ?"  said  one  of  the  crew. 
Oh  !  "  nary  a  hear,"  said  the  other,  "  did  you  ?" 


But  hark  !  once  again,  'tis  a  rap  on  the  door, 
And  nearer  this  time,  and  more  loud  than  before. 
And  steps  on  the  stair  all  muffled  and  slow, 
Too  plainly  declare  "  what's  up  "  down  below. 

Ah  !  there  was  a  deal  of  scampering  then, 
As  rushing  about  these  scare-stricken  men 
Endeavored  to  hide  the  signs  of  the  fry, 
Or  "  hash  "  if  you  like,  from  the  officer's  eye. 

But  vain  the  attempt,  for  one  in  the  fright 
Knocked  over  the  lamp  and  put  out  the  light ; 
And  "  cook  "  let  the  dish  containing  the  "  hash  " 
Descend  on  the  floor  with  a  terrible  crash. 

As  this  had  destroyed  their  hopes  of  the  feast, 
They  thought  they  would  save  some  disgrace  at  the  least 
And  those  of  the  room  slipped  into  their  beds 
And  gathered  the  covering  over  their  heads. 

The  others  who  heard  with  the  deepest  despair 
The  officer's  step  on  the  neighboring  stair, 
And  saw  that  all  chances  of  running  were  lost, 
Endeavored  to  hide  in  the  room  of  their  host. 


Two  under  the  bed  quite  skillfully  slid, 
And  fancied  themselves  right  carefully  hid  ; 
And  all  of  the  rest,  some  two  or  three  more, 
Secreted  themselves  in  rear  of  the  door. 


All  this  was  arranged  much  sooner  than  said, 
So  fearfully  near  the  officer's  tread 
Was  heard  in  the  hall,  and  all  in  the  room, 
Now  still  as  the  dead,  awaited  their  doom. 


And  scarcely  a  moment  transpired  before 

The  officer's  hand  laid  open  the  door ; 

And  gazing  around  he  saw  what  was  wrong, 

And  searching  the  room  he  "  hived  "  the  whole  throng. 


Nor  must  you  suppose  that  this  was  the  end, 
For  fellows  thus  "hived"  most  commonly  spend 
Some  Saturday  nights  on  sentinel's  posts, 
To  pay  for  the  "  hash  "  and  the  fun  they  have  lost. 


HER    TREASURES. 


B  V      M  A  R  V      A  INGE 


K     V  E  R  E. 


I  KEEP  them  jn  the  old,  old  box 
That  Willie  gave  me  years  ago, 

The  time  we  parted  on  the  rocks  ; 
His  ship  lay  swinging  to  and  fro, 

As  waiting  in  the  lower  bay. 

I  thought  my  heart  would  break,  that  day  ! 

The  picture  with  the  pensive  eyes 

Is  Willie's?  No,  dear,  that's  young  Blake, 

Who  took  the  West  Point  highest  prize  : 
He  went  half  crazy  for  my  sake. 

Here  are  a  lot  of  rhymes  he  wrote, 

And  here's  a  button  off  his  coat. 

Is  this  his  ring  ?     My  dearest  May, 
I  never  took  a  ring  from  him  ! 

This  was  a  gift  from  Howard  Clay. 
See  how  the  pearls  are  growing  dim. 

They  say  that  pearls  are  tears,  —  what  stuff  ! 

The  setting  looks  a  little  rough. 


93 


13 


He  was  as  handsome  as  a  prince— 
And  jealous !     But  he  went  to  Rome 

Last  fall.     He's  never  written  since. 
I  used  to  visit  at  his  home,— 

A  lovely  place  beyond  Fort  Lee : 

His  mother  thought  the  world  of  me! 

Oh  no  !  I  sent  his  letters  hack. 

These  came  to  me  from  Washington. 
But  look,  what  a  tremendous  pack  ! 

He  always  wrote  me  three  for  one. 
I  know  I  used  to  treat  him  ill,— 
Poor  Jack, — he  fell  at  Chancellorsville. 

The  vignettes — all 'that  lot — are  scalps 
I  took  in  London,  Naples,  Nice, 

At  Paris,  and  among  the  Alps : 

Those  foreign  lovers  act  like  geese, 

But,  dear,  they  arc  such  handsome  men. 

We  go  to  France,  next  year,  again  ! 


This  is  the  doctor's  signet  ring. 

-These  faded  flowers  ?  Oh,  let  me  see : 
Why,  what  a  very  curious  thing ! 

Who  could  have  sent  these  flowers  to  me  ? 
Ah  !  now  I  have  it, — Count  de  Twirl : 
He  married  that  fat  Crosbie  girl. 

His  hair  was  red. — You  need  not  look 

So  sadly  at  that  raven  tress. 
You  know  the  head  that  lock  forsook ; 

You  know, — but  you  could  never  guess ! 
Nor  would  I  tell  you  for  the  world 
About  whose  brow  that  ringlet  curled. 

Why  won't  I  tell  ?     Well,  partly,  child, 
Because  you  like  the  man  yourself; 

But  most  because — don't  get  so  wild  ! 
I  have  not  laid  him  on  the  shelf, — 

He's  not  a  by-gone.     In  a  year, 

I'll  tell  vou  all  about  him,  dear. 


94 


AX     INVITATION     TO    THE    ARMY;    OR,    LOVE'S    APPEAL. 

PATRICK    COSTIGAN. 
A  IK — The    Spider   and  the   Fly. 

"\VILL  you  live  with  me  in  quarters?"  said  the  Lieuten-         "We'll  have  the  quarter  of  a  yard  where  the  mud's  up 


ant  to  his  bride, 
"They've  the  loveliest  room  and  kitchen  that  ever  you 

have  spied ; 
There's  the  most  contracted  closet  that  ever  you  have 

seen, 

And  the  very  smokiest  chimney  that  ever  was,  I  ween." 
"  Oh!  no,"  says  the  ambitious  bride,  "  It  really  cannot  be, 
One  room  and  a  kitchen  will  never  do  for  me." 

"There's  the  sweetest  little  attic,  for  the  cook  and  nurse 

to  use, 

If  the  Q.  M.  hasn't  assigned  it,  that  to  us  he  won't  refuse, 
And  a  common  hall  for  all  of  us,  you  and  I  and  all  the 

fellows, 

From  which  the  other  officers  will  borrow  our  umbrellas." 
"Oh!    no,"    says   this  prudent  bride,  "  I'll  stay  at  home 

with  ma, 

Where  my  rubbers  and  my  waterproof  in  perfect  safety 
are." 


to  your  shoes, 
Where  the  garrison  cats  all  congregate  for  latest  feline 

news ; 

And  the  quarter  of  a  cellar,  where  we  will  keep  our  coals, 

If '  strikers '  do  not  steal  them,  and  prejudice  their  soles." 

"  Oh !  no,"  says  this  politic  bride,  as  she  fixes  her  back  hair, 

"  I  prefer  my  father's  cellar,  and  cats'  concerts  I  can't  bear." 

"  We  can  live  on  commissary  stores,  the  beef's  not  vcrv 

tough, 
And  the  coffee's  not  all  chiccory,  though  pretty  deuced 

rough, 
And  the  sugar  really  isn't  sand,  and  the  bread  quite  fine 

is  thought, 

And  Mrs.  Burke  will  sell  us  milk  at  fifteen  cents  a  quart." 
"  Oh  !  no,"  says  this  domestic  bride,  "I  fear  I  must  say  no, 

sir; 

I    like   our  own   milkman   the   best,  and    I    would   not 
change  my  grocer." 


95 


"  And  then  as  for  society,  there's  my  old  friend  Bill  Green, 
A  better  hand  at  cocktails  I  think  was  never  seen  ; 
And   Brown,  the  '  new  appointment,'  we  will  ask  to 

join  our  mess, 
He's  always  getting  a  box  from  home,  but  we  need  not 

charge  him  less." 
'  Oh  !    no,"   says  this  diffident  bride,  "  I've  met  that  Mr. 

Green, 

And  a  more  disreputable  drunkard  I  think   I've  rarely 
seen." 

"And  then,  about  the  baby,  the  precious  little  lamb, 
With  Johnson's  little  boys  he'll  play,  who'll  teach  him 

how  to  damn  ; 
And  the  men  can  teach  him  jokes,  and  likewise  how  to 

.chew, 
And  he'll  learn  to  take  his  cocktail,  as  he  sees  his  father 

do." 
"  Oh  !  no,"  this  moral  bride  remarks,  "we  must  not  let  him 

thus 

Learn  all  about  '  two  pairs  '  and  a  'full,'  his  '  bitters,'  and 
to  cuss." 


"  Then    the    cook    will    marry    Sergeant    Rourke,  for  a 

laundresship,  you  know, 
And  the  nurse  will  marry  Schmidt  of  the  band,  who 

plays  the  piccolo ; 
And  they'll  recommend  their  cousins  to  fill  their  vacant 

places, 
Who    will   go   off  with    other    men,   as   generally   the 

case  is." 
"Oh  !  no,"  says  this  discreetest  bride,  "my  home  I  think 

I'll  tarry  in. 

Our  girls  have  got  no  cousins,  and  they  do  not  think  of 
marrying." 

"  Well  then,  my   dear,  please  let   me  know  what  you 

intend  to  do  ; 

I  have  but  little  time  to  stay,  and  I  must  part  from  you ; 
My  leave  is  up  to-morrow,  and  I  wish  you'd  settle  now 
Whether  you'll  come  or  stay  at  home.  Is  this  whiskey? 

well  then,  how !" 
"  Oh  !  oh  !"  says  the  sorrowful  bride,  as  from  the  room 

he  goes, 
"  I  think  /'//take  a  suite  of  rooms  at  Cozzens'  or  at  Roe's." 


96 


WE'LL  DOFF  THE  GRAY,  AND  DON  THE  BLUE. 

A    GRADUATING    SONG   OF    CLASS    '47. 


HURRAH  !  for  the  merry  bright  month  of  June  ! 

That  opens  a  life  so  new ; 
When  we  doff  the  cadet,  and  don  the  brevet, 

And  change  the  gray  for  the  blue. 

This  world  we  may  find  a  right  hard  world, 

As  we  travel  its  mazes  through  ; 
But  with  right  stout  hearts  we'll  play  our  parts, 

When  we  change  the  gray  for  the  blue. 

To  the  struggles  of  youth,  to  the  mimic  of  war, 

To  our  sports,  to  our  follies,  adieu. 
We  are  now  for  the  strife  in  the  battle  of  life, 

We  must  change  the  gray  for  the  blue. 

Some  will  be  bound  for  Oregon's  shore, 

And  some  to  the  famed  Vera  Cruz, 
We'll  see  Matamoras  and  the  fair  senoras 

Though  not  as  the  grays,  but  as  the  blues. 

Where  the  bugles  are  calling  on  Mexico's  plains, 
May  we  all  to  our  colors  prove  true, 

Be  cool  and  be  steady  with  "Old  Rough  and  Ready," 
Nor  tarnish  the  gray,  nor  the  blue. 
97 


The  hero  of  Lundy  again  takes  the  field 

The  scenes  of  his  youth  to  renew ; 
Let  it  be  our  first  pride  to  stand  by  his  side 

And  prove  that  the  grays  are  true  blue. 

With  Niagara's  hero,  the  brave  General  Scott 

The  stout-hearted  soldier,  and  true, 
We  will  triumph  in  victory,  or  fall  in  its  arms, 

Lamented  by  gray  and  by  blue. 

Tho'  broken  the  tie  that  has  bound  us  awhile, 

Fate  shall  ne'er  dissever  the  few 
Of  a  true-hearted  band  who,  linked  hand  in  hand, 

Change  together  the"  gray  for  the  blue. 

The  gray  of  the  morning  is  warmed  by  the  sun 

To  the  azure  at  noon's  bright  hue ; 
As  morn  at  our  time  ripens  fast  to  its  prime, 

When  we  change  the  gray  for  the  blue. 

True,  clouds  may  arise  to  o'ershadow  our  skies, 
But  the  sunbeams  will  still  burst  thro,' 

And  with  crimson  and  gold  touch  each  silvery  fold, 
As  they  blend  the  gray  with  the  blue. 


SONG    OF    THE    CLASS    OF   '79. 

SUMMER    OF    '75. 

IN  eighteen  hundred  and  seventy-five, 

On  West  Point's  rocky  shore, 
Was  formed  the  class  whose  name  shall  last 

Till  time  shall  be  no  more. 
Hail !  to  our  Alma  Mater, 

The  nursery  of  the  brave, 
And  hail !  to  a  life  of  action, 

And  a  soldier's  death — and  grave. 

From  Eastward,  and  from  Westward,  . 

The  men  have  come  afar, 
To  make  their  lives  their  country's, 

And  learn  the  art  of  war ; 
From  Massachusetts  fertile  shore  ; 

From  the  sterile  coast  of  Maine  ; 
From  many  a  well-loved  Southern  home ; 

From  many  a  Western  plain  ; 


98 


From  the  lordly  Mississippi, 

Which  flows  through  all  the  land, 
And  waters  flowery  meadows, 

Where  long-horned  cattle  stand  ; 
And  bears  upon  its  bosom, 

Where  Leviathan  might  disport, 
The  spoils  the  wealthy  planter  sends 

To  the  far-off  Southern  port ; — 
Bears  them  to  the  distant  city, 

Where  once  the  ground  was  red 
With  the  blood  of  those  whose  cheers  arose 

When  the  British  Army  fled  ! 

From  the  vast  Northwestern  region, 

Where  the  painted  savage  roams, 
Murdering  babes  and  women, 

And  burning  happy  homes  ; 
From  the  far  Pacific  shore  they  come 

To  bow  at  the  War-god's  shrine, 
And  so  at  last  is  formed  the  class — 

Dear,  good  old  Seventy-Nine  ! 


SUMMER    OF    '76. 

Through  many  a  trial  and  sorrow, 

With  many  a  tear  and  sigh, 
Our  fourth  class  year  we've  finished, 

And  "yearling  camp"  is  nigh. 
Yearling  camp,  that  happy  time, 

When  we'll  be  free  to  "  spoon  " 
Each  beauteous  "femme,"  whose  bright  eyes  shame 

The  glowing  sun  of  June. 

But  we  mourn  for  many  a  lost  one, 

Who,  idle,  or  unwary, 
Let  his  budding  laurels  die 

'Neath  the  snows  of  January  ; 
Let  them  lie  unheeded, 

Unplucked,  along  his  path, 
And  spent  his  time  on  "  extra," 

And  got  "found"  in  French  or  "  Math." 


SUMMER   OF     77. 
FURLOUGH. 

And  now  our  "yearling  year"  is  past, 

Bold  "  furloughmen  "  are  we, 
Free  as  the  perfumed  breeze  that  sighs 

Across  the  summer  sea  ; 
Free  to  seek  our  loved  ones, 

And  clasp  them  in  our  arms  ; 
Free  to  feast  our  eyes  upon 

Our  sweethearts'  glowing  charms. 

We've  dreamt  of  the  joys  of  furlough 
Through  all  the  winter  past ; 

Day  and  night  its  image  bright 

Has  shone  before  our  dazzled  sight, 

And  been  a  sweet  alluring  light ; 
And  now — it's  come  at  last ! 


99 


SUMMER    OF    '78 FIRST    CLASS    CAMP. 

The  fight  is  nearly  o'er,  my  friends, 

The  battle  nearly  done, 
For  the  third  long  year  is  over, 

And  "first  class  camp"  is  won. 
We'll  "rag"  no  more  in  Tactics, 

We'll  "fess"  no  more  in  "  Chim," 
For  Graduating  Furlough 

Shines  in  the  distance  dim. 

Many  a  weary  hour  we've  "  boned" 

Those  Occult  Analytics, 
Many  a  "  frigid  fess  "  we've  made 

On  Molecular  Mechanics  ; 
Many  a  time  we've  pondered 

The  Myst'ries  of  Acoustics, 
Many  a  night  we've  "  run"  a  light, 

To  learn  the  laws  of  Optics. 


SUMMER    OF      79 GRADUATION. 

Farewell  to  all  our  studies  here, 

Farewell  to  Hudson's  stream, 
Farewell  to  the  dear  old  uniform, 

To  the  buttons'  flashing  gleam ; 
Farewell  to  the  old  gray  barracks, 

Farewell  to  camp  and  plain, 
Farewell  to  many  a  comrade 

We  ne'er  may  see  again  ! 

For  now  the  trial  is  over, 

The  long  four  years  are  past, 
And  we  go  to  do  our  life's  work, 

Where'er  our  lines  be  cast. 
Let  Classmate  be  to  Classmate 

A  trusting,  loving  friend  ; 
Let  us  stand  by  one  another 

From  this  day  unto  the  end! 


Then,  fellows,  in  years  that  are  to  come, 

Far  in  the  future  time, 
Well  known  to  fame  shall  be  the  name 

Of  the  class  of  '79. 


G.  E.  H. 


IOO 


FURLOUGH     SONG    OF    '79. 

W.    E.    P.    FRENCH,    '79. 
Am — Away  with  Melancholy. 


WE'VE  "  boned  "  for  two  years  steady, 
But  the  good  time's  come  at  last, 

And  we  look  on  a  "  yearling  "  already 
As  a  thing  of  the  distant  past. 

CHORUS. 

Then  fill  to  the  brim  your  glasses, 
Here's  a  health  to  old  '79, 

The  dearest  and  best  of  classes, 
May  she  "  rag  "  to  the  end  of  time. 

To  our  homes,  to  our  loved  ones  we're  going, 
To  those  whom  we  hold  most  dear, 

And  with  joy  all  our  hearts  are  glowing, 
As  for  '79  we  cheer. — Clio. 


No  roll-calls  or  other  formations 

Till  our  glorious  furlough  is  through, 

But  on  "  spooney  "  demonstrations 
We'll  coldly  "  max  "  it  through.—  Cho. 

All  trouble  and  care  we  will  banish 
Till  our  glorious  furlough  is  o'er  ; 

And  "  Math,"  and  French,  and  Spanish, 
We'll  never  "  fess  "  on  more. — Cho. 


With  wine,  and  song,  and  the  ladies, 

The  hours  will  quickly  fly  ; 
And  we'll  fill  in  all  odd  moments 

By  "  hiving"  a  kiss  on  the  sly. — Cho. 


We  dread  to  the  Point  returning, 

W7e  shrink  from  its  rock-bound  shore 

Where  "  Phil "  and  "  Chem  "  are  yearning 
To  make  life  a  fearful  bore. —  Cho. 


SECOND    SECTION.    CLASS   '79. 
J.  A.  JOHNSTON,  '79. 


AIR — Farmer  Boy. 


"  MR.  BEACH,"  the  instructor  cried, 

"  A  front  board  you  may  take, 
And  a  linear  perspective  of  the  column 

You  may  make ; 
With  a  pedestal  square,  and  abacus, 

And  the  shadow  of  the  same 
On  the  surface  of  the  column,  you  also 
May  explain." 

Straight  up  to  the  board  he  went 

And  his  knees  began  to  shake, 
And  for  "  pure  and  simple  principles," 

In  vain  his  head  he  raked  ; 
But,  suddenly  to  him  occurred 

A  thought,  to  him  not  new, 
A  thought,  my  friends,  will  you  just  think ! 

Of  trying  to  "  bugle  it "  through. 


Then  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  fullest  height, 

And  to  a  ruler  froze, 
Then  faced  about  courageously 

And  gazed  down  on  his  toes ; 
While  the  instructor  cast  a  knowing  glance 

'Round  about  the  room, 
Until  at  length  it  rested  on 

The  man  whom  he  had  doomed. 

He  smiled.     Ah  yes  !  then  swallowed  his  (— 

And  then  he  opened  his  book, 
And  then  he  ducked  his  chin  right  in 

And  called  on  Mr.  Brooks  ; 
When  in  there  walked  that  well-known  form 

Whose  classic  name  is  (—     -) 
Who  rubbed  his  hands  most  gleefully, 

And  called  up  little  French. 


"  Ah  !  very  good  !"  he  softly  cried, 
"  I  presume  the  work's  your  own  ; 
I'll  hear  your  demonstration 
As  far  as  you  have  gone." 
(Dick  heaved  a  groan  full  fraught  with  pain.) 
Thought  the  instructor,  "  I've  made  a  hive, 
"  I'll  fess  him  cold  and  cuss  him  out ; 
Then  give  him  just  one  five." 

With  ready  skill  he  carved  (one  five)  1.5, 

Which  he  was  wont  to  do, 
And  a  frown  came  o'er  his  placid  face 

As  he  thundered,  "  That  will  do." 
For,  true  to  his  word,  he  "  fessed  "  Dick  cold  ; 

Then  turned  with  fiendish  glee 
To  Prof.  Church,  well  known  to  fame, 

Who  "  fessed  "  the  other  three. 


Stivers,  Jenkins,  Jordan,  and  Jolly  were  called 

The  vacant  boards  to  take  ; 
Which  left  myself  and  Fatty  Hewitt 

In  a  highly  chronic  state. 
But  Fatty's  grief  was  turned  to  joy, 

Which  widened  into  glee 
When  the  instructor,  With  a  loving  smile, 

Directly  called  on  me. 

Ha !  I  braced  myself  for  the  coming  fight ; 

But  alas !  it  was  no  use, 
For  I  wallowed  in  the  mire  of  ignorance 

And  sank  down  a  la  Huse. 
So  likewise  the  front-board-men, 

In  "  fessing  "  did  persist, 
Till  the  instructor,  with  a  disgusted  air, 

His  LOVING  flock  dismissed. 


From  the  second  section  two  have  gone, 

Their  names  you  know  full  well ; 
For  the  name  of  one  is  "  Deacon"  Smith, 

Of  the  other,  Mills,  A.  L. 
Alas !  alas  !  poor  "  Deacon  "  Smith, 

His  fate  I  do  bewail ; 
For  Mills,  A.  L.,  he  went  to  the  "  first," 

But  the  deacon  slid  out  at  the  tail. 


Now  silence  reigned  throughout  the  room, 

As  he  over  his  book  did  bend, 
Seeking  for  a  deserving  one,  to  the 

Fourth  front  board  to  send  ; 
At  length  his  glance  was  riveted, 

As  plainly  could  be  seen, 
It  rested  on  the  historic  name 

Of  Henry  Alexander  Greene. 

And  now  a  look  of  fear  was  seen 

On  the  faces  of  the  rest, 
A  shudder  ran  through  the  manly  forms 

Which  sat  just  on  his  left. 
Once  more  he  takes  his  book  in  hand, 

Another  fiendish  view ; 
And  then  he  murmured  half  aloud, 
"  Mr.  Huse,  I'll  question  you." 


"  Mr.  Huse,  can  you  tell  me 

What  is  a  tangential  curve? 
You've  had  it  in  Church's  Calculus, 

No  doubt  you  will  observe." 
"  Well,  yes,  sir !  I  think  I  can." 
And  then  he  followed  suit, 
By  shooting  off  quite  fluently, 
"  It's  a  line,  or  curve  of  pursuit." 


But  at  length  the  instructor  "  fessed  him  cold," 

Then  gently  set  him  down  ; 
And  with  malignant  satisfaction 

Turned  Mr.  Beach  around  ; 
Who,  with  downcast  looks  and  sheepish  smile, 

In  which  the  other  three  all  shared, 
He  softly  whispered,  "  Lieutenant, 

I'm  not  yet  quite  prepared." 


«.' 


WTE'VE  not  much  longer  here  to  stay, 

For  in  a  week  or  two 
We'll  bid  farewell  to  "  Cadet  gray," 

And  don  the  "Army  blue." 


With  pipe  and  song  we'll  jog  along 
Till  this  short  time  is  through, 

And  all  among  our  jovial  throng 
Have  donned  the  Army  blue. 


CHORUS. 

Army  blue,  Army  blue, 
We'll  don  the  Army  blue ; 

We'll  bid  farewell  to  "  Cadet  gray," 
And  don  the  "Army  blue." 


101 


To  Ethics,  Mineralogy, 

And  Engineering,  too, 
We'll  bid  good-bye  without  a  sigh, 

And  don  the  Army  blue. — Clio. 

To  the  ladies  who  come  up  in  June 

We'll  bid  a  fond  adieu, 
And  hoping  they'll  be  married  soon, 

We'll  don  the  Army  blue.— Cho. 


Now  here's  to  the  man  who  wins  the  cup, 

May  he  be  kind  and  true, 
And  may  he  bring  "  OUR  GODSON  "  up 

To  don  the  Army  blue. — Cho. 

Now,  fellows,  we  must  say  good-bye, 
We've  stuck  our  four  years  through  ; 

Our  future  is  a  cloudless  sky, 
We'll  don  the  Army  blue. — Clio. 


Rip,  slap,  bang,  hurrah  ! — Cho. 


L.  W.  BECK  LAW. 


102 


REQUIEM. 

From  the  Army  and  Navy  Journal. 

Benny  Havens,  the  subject  of  the  song  "  Benny  Havens,  Oh,"  died  at 
Highland  Falls,  N.  Y.,  May  291)1,  1877,  at  the  age  of  89  years. 


O'BRIEN'S  harp  was  sweetly  strung 
And  gave  us  joy,  long,  long  ago, 

While  we,  with  union  voices  sung 
The  worth  of  "  Benny  Havens,  oh  !" 

That  harp  now  hangs  on  willow  branch, 
And  He  of  whom  it  sang  lies  low ; 

No  more  our  steps  will  seek  his  ranche 
To  grasp  the  hand  of  "  Havens,  oh  !" 

For  ninety  years  his  eye  shone  out, 

And  friendly  smiles  met  friend  and  foe, 

But  now  the  spark  of  life's  gone  out ! 
No  more  we'll  greet  our  "  Havens,  oh !" 

We  lay  his  whiten'd  locks  beneath 

The  harden'd  earth — no  pomp,  no  show — 

But  granite  rocks  give  burial  wreaths, 

And  soft  May  winds  chant  "  Havens,  oh  !" 

He  ran  his  course — we  all  do  that— 

God  crowns  the  victor,  high  or  low ! 
To  Him  we  pray — "  Rcquicscat 

fn pace" — "  Benny  Havens,  oh  !" 

103 


B." 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


Prof.  (Col.)  ALBERT  E.  CHURCH,  LL.D.%  U.  S  Military  Academy,  died 
suddenly  at  West  Point,  N.  Y.,  on  Saturday,  March  3Oth,  1878 


AYE  !  There  he  lies,  as  if  in  deep  sleep  ! 

No  painful  thought  upon  his  brow  ! 
Then  why  should  we,  who  loved  him,  weep, 

Knowing  he  rests  so  calmly  now  ? 

Oh  !  that  my  hour,  the  last  on  earth, 

Could  be  assured  to  be  as  calm ! 
Oh !  pray  ye  all — and  hail  the  worth 

Of  such  a  death — for  such  a  palm  ! 

His  death  was  like  his  life  of  years 
That  God  in  ages  past  has  spanned ; 

Then  for  ourselves,  let  flow  our  tears, 
But  praise  God  for  the  perfect  man. 

A  heart,  for  others,  full  of  love,— 

Mind,  that  from  duty  never  swerved — 

His  daily  walk  was  far  above 

This  sordid  earth — for  God  he  served. 

He  did  not  die  !  He  merely  cast 

His  robe  of  work  aside  and  left 
This  weary  world,  and  calmly  passed 

Through  that  dark  rock  that  Christ  hath  cleft. 


B." 


OUR    SKELETON    ARMY. 


W.    A.    CROFFUT. 


OUR  Skeleton  Army !  It  seems  like  the  dead 

To  the  buzzards  rapacious  that  wheel  overhead ; 

Yet  its  nerve  is  of  steel,  and  its  eye  is  of  fire, 

And  the  tattered  old  banner  waves  brighter  and  higher. 

The  field  of  the  son  for  the  flag  of  the  sire ! 

It  stands  like  a  storm-beaten  bulwark  of  doom 

To  beat  back  the  fury  of  tempests  to  come. 

Along  the  wild  border  the  menaces  rise, 
Where  lurks  the  red  savage  with  death  in  his  eyes. 
Ten  thousand  young  warriors  are  riding  around, 
And  the  whisper  of  fate  steals  away  underground— 
A  message  of  silence  more  awful  than  sound ! 
But  the  baby  is  safe  in  its  fond  mother's  care, 
While  Uncle  Sam's  Skeleton  Army  is  there. 


Where  cactus  and  chaparral  bloom  o'er  the  sand 
On  the  fretted  frontier  of  the  Mexican  land, 
The  tumult  grows  louder — a  presage  of  strife, 
The  flash  and  the  crash  of  the  rifle  and  knife ; 
The  direful  old  story — a  life  for  a  life  ! 
But  we  fear  not  the  sweep  of  the  besom  of  wrath, 
For  the  Skeleton  Army  is  guarding  the  path  ! 

To  the  Nation  another  voice  rings  through  the  air 
From  prairie  to  sea,  "  Have  a  care  !  Have  a  care  ! 
These  heroes  of  ours  in  their  jackets  of  blue 
Reproach  us  that  they  are  so  feeble  and  few— 
As  you  do  to  (hem,  will  we  do  unto y 'ou  ! 
Make  vital  these  bones,  and  the  Army  shall  be 
The  guardian  and  pride  of  the  land  of  the  free  !" 


106 


CUSTER. 


EDMUND    C.    STEDMAN. 


WHAT  !  shall  that  sudden  blade 
Leap  out  no  more? 

No  more  thy  hand  he  laid 
Upon  the  sword-hilt,  smiting  sore  ? 
O  for  another  such 

The  charger's  rein  to  clutch, — 
One  equal  voice  to  summon  victory, 

Sounding  thy  battle-cry, 
Brave  darling  of  the  soldiers'  choice ! 

Would  there  were  one  more  voice ! 

O  gallant  charge,  too  bold ! 
O  fierce  imperious  greed 

To  pierce  the  clouds  that  in  their  darkness  hold 
Slaughter  of  man  and  steed  ! 
Now,  stark  and  cold, 
Among  thy  fallen  braves  thou  liest, 
And  even  with  thy  blood  defiest 

The  wolfish  foe ; 
But  ah,  thou  liest  low, 
And  all  our  birth-day  song  is  hushed  indeed ! 


Young  lion  of  the  plain, 

Thou  of  the  tawny  mane  ! 
Hotly  the  soldiers'  hearts  shall  beat, 

Their  mouths  thy  death  repeat, 
Their  vengeance  seek  the  trail  again 

Where  thy  red  doomsmen  be  ; 
But  on  the  charge  no  more  shall  stream 
Thy  hair, — no  more  thy  sabre  gleam,— 

No  more  ring  out  thy  battle-shout, 
Thy  cry  of  victoi  y ! 

Not  when  a  hero  falls 

The  sound  a  world  appals  : 

For  while  we  plant  his  cross 
There  is  a  glory,  even  in  the  loss : 

But  when  some  craven  heart 

From  honor  dares  to  part, 
Then,  then,  the  groan,  the  blanching  cheek, 

And  men  in  whispers  speak, 
Nor  kith  nor  country  dare  reclaim 

From  the  black  dqpths  his  name. 


107 


Thou,  wild  young  warrior,  rest, 
By  all  the  prairie  winds  caressed  ! 

Swift  was  thy  dying  pang ; 

Even  as  the  war-cry  rang 
Thy  deathless  spirit  mounted  high 

And  sought  Columbia's  sky  :— 
There,  to  the  northward  far, 

Shines  a  new  star, 
And  from  it  blazes  down 
The  light  of  thy  renown  ! 


THE  CAVALRY  CHARGE. 

EDMUND    C.    STEDMAN. 

OUR  good  steeds  snuff  the  evening  air, 
Our  pulses  with  their  purpose  tingle ; 

The  foeman's  fires  are  twinkling  there  ; 
He  leaps  to  hear  our  sabres  jingle  ! 


1 08 


HALT! 

Each  carbine  sent  its  whizzing  ball : 
Now,  cling !  clang  !  forward  all, 
Into  the  fight ! 

Dash  on  beneath  the  smoking  dome  : 
Through  level  lightnings  gallop  nearer. 

One  look  to  heaven  !     No  thoughts  of  home : 
The  guidons  that  we  bear  are  dearer. 

CHARGE  ! 

Clang  !  Clang  !  forward  all ! 
Heaven  help  those  whose  horses  fall: 
Cut  left  and  right ! 

They  flee  before  our  fierce  attack  ! 

They  fall !  they  spread  in  broken  surges. 
Now,  comrades,  bear  our  wounded  back, 

And  leave  the  foeman  to  his  dirges. 

WHEEL  ! 

The  bugles  sound  the  swift  recall : 
Clang !  clang  !  backward  all ! 

Home,  and  good-night! 


OLD    COMANCHE. 

HEADQUARTERS  SEVENTH  UNITED  STATES  CAVALRY,  ) 
[GENERAL  ORDERS,  No.  7.]  FORT  A.  LINCOLN,  DAK.,  April  10, 1878.     )" 

I.  The  horse   known   as  Comanche  being  the  cnly  living  representative   of  the  bloody   tragedy  of  the  Little    Big  Horn,  June  25th,  1876,   his  kind  treatment 
and  comfort  should    be  a  matter  of  pride  and   solicitude  on  the   part   of  every  member  of   the   Seventh    Cavalry,  to  the  end    that   his   life  may  be  prolonged  to 
the   utmost   limit.      Wounded    and    scarred  as  he  is,  his  very  existence  speaks   in    terms  more  eloquent  than  words  of  the  desperate  struggle  against  over 
whelming  numbers  of  the  hopeless  conflict  and  of  the  heroic   manner  in  which  all  went  down  on  that  fatal  day. 

II.  The   commanding  officer  of  Company   I   will   see   that,  a   special    and  comfortable   stall    is   fitted    up   for   him,  and  he  will  not  be  ridden  by  any  person 
whatever,  under  any  circumstances,  nor  will  he  be  put  to  any  kind  of  work. 

III.  Hereafter,  upon   all   occasions   of  ceremony  (of   mounted   regimental  formation),   Comanche,  saddled,  bridled,  draped  in  mourning,  and  led  by  a  mounted 
trooper  of  Company  I,  will  be  paraded  with  the  regiment. 

By  command  of 

BREVET  MAJOR-GENERAL  S.  D.  STURGIS,  Colonel  Seventh  Regiment. 
ERNST  A.  GARLINGTON,  First  Lieutenant  and  Adjutant  Seventh  Cavalry. 


HONOR  to  old  Comanche, 

The  sole  survivor  he 
Of  the  fierce  fight  where  Custer  died 

With  all  his  chivalry. 

Honor  to  Keogh's  charger  ! 
Only  his  flashing  eye 

Saw  the  Three  Hundred  fighting- 
Saw  the  Three  Hundred  die  ! 


His  was  the  place  of  honor 

Where  his  Irish  rider  fell, 
When  the  Seventh  rode  into  the  valley 

That  blazed  like  the  mouth  of  hell ! 

The  horse  is  part  of  the  soldier ; 

He  mixed  his  blood  with  theirs; 
Therefore  for  old  Comanche 

All  comforts  and  no  cares. 


For  him  free  stall  and  pasture, 
While  strength  and  life  remain ; 

And  let  no  living  rider 
Bestride  his  back  again  ! 


109 


But  when  the  bugles  summon 
The  Seventh  to  parade, 

Saddle  and  bridle  Comanche, 
In  sable  housings  arrayed; 

And  let  a  trooper  lead  him, 
The  horse  that  saw  Custer  die, 

Forth  to  the  place  of  honor 
In  the  front  of  Company  I  ! 


Will  he  neigh  to  his  fellows,  whose  riders 

Fell  on  that  fatal  morn  ? 
Will  they  hear  him  amid  the  trumpets, 

Out  on  the  Little  Big-Horn  ? 

Honor  to  old  Comanche, 

While  strength  and  life  remain  ! 

But,  oh  !  to  see  the  Captain 
Upon  his  back  again  ! 


BEFORE    THE    ATTACK. 


PATIENCE,  O  comrades,  the  time  will  come 

When  the  signal  gun  shall  flash, 
And  the  blare  of  bugle  and  roll  of  drum 

Shall  join  with  the  rifle's  crash. 

Then  the  ranks  of  the  foe  shall  be  crushed  and  riven, 
They  shall  scatter  before  us  like  clouds  storm  riven  ; 
But  steady  now,  till  the  word  is  given, 

Then  go  with  a  da'sh. 


But  a  little  longer — Tis  deadly  still- 
Will  the  signal  never  come  ? 

Now — ready — blow,  trumpeter,  blow  with  a  will, 
Beat,  drummer,  upon  your  drum, 

Our  waiting  is  over — there  booms  the  gun, 

Look  to  your  rifles — stand  steady,  each  one. 

Now  forward,  O  comrades  mine,  with  a  run ; 
Hurrah  !  strike  home  ! ' 


IIO 


THE    WRATH    OF   THE    BLACK    HILLS. 


THERE  was  silence  in  the  canyons, 

There  was  silence  on  the  hills ; 
And  the  valley  of  the  Rosebud 

Poured  its  songs  of  summer  rills  ; 
And  summer  birds  in  brambles, 

And  low  zephyrs  in  the  vines 
On  the  path  of  Ouster's  squadrons, 

As  they  rode  among  the  pines. 

Their  steeds  were  worn  and  weary, 

For  they  journeyed  fast  and  far, 
From  the  fading  of  the  twilight 

To  the  paling  of  the  star. 
But  'twas  morning  on  the  Big  Horn, 

Dawn  of  rest  for  steed  and  man ; 
How  the  daylight  laughed  with  gladness 

Where  the  sparkling  river  ran  ! 

All  is  silent  by  the  river 

Save  the  murmur  of  its  voice, 
And  the  summer  leaves  that  rustle 

In  the  zephyrs,  and  rejoice. 
But  see!  the  frightened  eagle 

Quits  his  eyry  in  the  sky— 
And  hark  !  those  yells  of  madness, 

That  do  drown  the  eagle's  cry. 


From  every  rock  and  ravine, 

From  each  hilltop,  slope,  and  dell, 
They  swarm  in  yelling  legions, 

They  are  fiends  let  loose  from  hell ! 
A  thousand  ringing  rifles, 

Send  their  messengers  of  wrath  ! 
A  thousand  whizzing  arrows 

Follow  swiftly  in  their  path  ! 

See  the  reeling  stricken  squadrons  ! 

Dying  man,  and  dying  steed  ! 
They  fly — they  halt,  they  rally  ! 

But  in  vain  they  fight  and  bleed. 
Still  the  ravines  send  their  legions, 

Pouring  onward  like  a  flood  ! 
And  the  air  is  black  with  terror, 
And  the  sands  are  red  with  blood ! 

There  is  silence  in  the  canyons, 

There  is  silence  on  the  hills. 
Where  the  sands  are  red  with  slaughter 

There  are  songs  of  summer  rills. 
The  birds  sing  by  the  streamlets, 

And  the  pine  tree  nods  its  crest ; 
And  the  eagle  from  the  cloudlet 

Has  gone  back  to  find  her  nest. 


A.    T.    LEE. 


THE  REVENGE  OF  RAIN-IN-THE-FACE. 


H.    W.    LONGFELLOW. 


IN  that  desolate  land  and  lone, 
Where  the  Big  Horn  and  Yellowstone 

Roar  down  their  mountain  path, 
By  their  fires  the  Sioux  Chiefs 
Muttered  their  woes  and  griefs 

And  the  menace  of  their  wrath. 

"  Revenge  !"  cried  Rain-in-the-Face, 
"  Revenge  upon  all  the  race 

Of  the  White  Chief  with  yellow  hair !" 
And  the  mountains  dark  and  high 
From  their  crags  re-echoed  the  cry 
Of  his  anger  and  despair. 

In  the  meadow,  spreading  wide 
By  woodland  and  riverside 

The  Indian  village  stood  ; 
All  was  silent  as  a  dream, 
Save  the  rushing  of  the  stream 
And  the  blue-jay  in  the  wood. 


In  his  war-paint  and  his  beads, 
Like  a  bison  among  the  reeds, 

In  ambush  the  Sitting  Bull 
Lay  with  three  thousand  braves 
Crouched  in  the  clefts  and  caves, 

Savage,  unmerciful ! 

Into  the  fatal  snare 

The  White  Chief  with  yellow  hair 

And  his  three  hundred  men 
Dashed  headlong,  sword  in  hand  ; 
But  of  that  gallant  band 

Not  one  returned  again. 

The  sudden  darkness  of  death 
Overwhelmed  them  like  the  breath 

And  smoke  of  a  furnace  fire  : 
By  the  river's  bank,  and  between 
The  rocks  of  the  ravine, 

They  lay  in  their  bloody  attire. 


But  the  foeman  fled  in  the  night, 
And  Rain-in-the-Face,  in  his  flight, 

Uplifted  high  in  air 
As  a  ghastly  trophy,  bore 
The  brave  heart,  that  beat  no  more, 

Of  the  White  Chief  with  yellow  hair. 


Whose  was  the  right  and  the  wrong  ? 
Sing  it,  O  funeral  song, 

With  a  voice  that  is  full  of  tears, 
And  say  that  our  broken  faith 
Wrought  all  this  ruin  and  scathe, 

In  the  Year  of  a  Hundred  Years. 


THE    FLOWER    OF    LIBERTY. 


OLIVER    WENDELL    HOLMES. 


WHAT  flower  is  this  that  greets  the  morn, 
Its  hues  from  heaven  so  freshly  born  ? 
With  burning  star  and  flaming  band 
It  kindles  all  the  sunset  land  ;— 
O,  tell  us  what  its  name  may  be ! 
Is  this  the  Flower  of  Liberty  ? 
It  is  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  starry  Flower  of  Liberty ! 


In  savage  Nature's  far  abode 
Its  tender  seed  our  fathers  sowed ; 
The  storm-winds  rocked  its  swelling  bud, 
Its  opening  leaves  were  streaked  with  blood, 
Till,  lo !  earth's  tyrants  shook  to  see 
The  full-blown  Flower  of  Liberty  ! 
Then  hail  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  starry  Flower  of  Liberty  ! 


114 


Behold  its  streaming  rays  unite, 

One  mingling  flood  of  braided  light, — 

The  red  that  fires  the  Southern  rose, 

With  spotless  white  from  Northern  snows, 

And,  spangled  o'er  its  azure,  see 

The  sister  Stars  of  Liberty  ! 

Then  hail  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  Starry  Flower  of  Liberty  ! 


The  blades  of  heroes  fence  it  round ; 

Where'er  it  springs  is  holy  ground  ; 

From  tower  and  dome  its  glories  spread  ; 

It  waves  where  lonely  sentries  tread; 

It  makes  the  land  as  ocean  free, 

And  plants  an  empire  on  the  sea  ! 
Then  hail  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  starry  Flower  of  Liberty ! 


The  sacred  leaves,  fair  Freedom's  flower, 
Shall  ever  float  on  dome  and  towei, 
To  all  their  heavenly  colors  true, 
In  blackening  frost,  or  crimson  dew, — 
And  God  love  us  as  we  love  thee, 
Thrice  holy  Flower  of  Liberty  ! 

Then  hail  the  banner  of  the  free, 
The  starry  Flower  of  Liberty  ! 


TOWARD    THE    SETTING    SUN. 

BEFORE  the  progress  of  his  whiter  foe 

See  the  last  Indian  his  lone  journey  go 

With  solemn  mien  and  tread  forlorn  and  slow. 

The  time  has  come  for  him 

Which  comes  for  all 

Among  the  races  that  first  rise,  then  fall. 
Into  the  distance  and  the  future  dim 
The  last  son,  at  some  predetermined  date, 

Must  set  his  course  ;  and  happy  he, 

If,  final  scion,  his  perspective  be 
Clear  of  the  lowering  clouds  of  night  and  fate 
Which  overhang  this  son  with  gloomy  weight. 

Not  victim  of  our  enmity  of  race, 

But  of  the  system  of  the  paler  face, 

Yon  red  man  makes  his  forced-march,  to  be  done 

At  the  land-limit  of  the  Setting  Sun. 


Proud,  poor,  alone,  and  sullen,  sad,  and  strong, 
Muffled  by  Nemesis,  he  moves  along 
With  gun,  scalp,  blanket,  feathers — last  in  song, 
Last  man  of  mingled  romance,  right  and  wrong. 

Where  is  for  him  the  Setting  Sun  ? 

Last  Indian,  whither  shall  his  race  be  run  ? 

On  the  dark  prairie  of  his  destiny 

We  gaze  with  him — the  end  we  cannot  see  ! 

Let  him,  untroubled,  sunward  move ! 
Our  race  and  his  have  wasted  little  love ; 
But  let  us  honor  his  last  dignity 
Who  no  successor  of  his  line  shall  see. 

His  triumphs  and  defeats  are  o'er, 
His  captured  fields  for  him  yield  nothing  more, 
As,  with  his  blanket,  feathers,  scalp,  and  gun, 
He  paces  slowly  to  the  Setting  Sun, 
And  leaves  himself  in  picture,  thus  to  be 
American  alone  in  Memory.  T. 

NEW  YORK,  May  7,  1878. 


117 


RIFLE    AND    BOW. 

R.    H.    STODDARD. 

THE  red  man,  whom  our  hardy  sires 
Found  in  possession  of  the  land  ; 

Who  built  in  woods  his  wigwam  fires, 
And  smoked  his  pipe ;  or,  bow  in  hand, 

Crept  on  the  wild  deer,  or  the  bear — 

Or  tracked  the  panther  to  his  lair  : 
118 


Who,  grim,  and  hard  of  heart  at  best, 
Daubed  in  his  war-paint,  stole  away, 

With  twenty  devils  in  his  breast, 
To  where  his  hated  foeman  lay, 

Whom,  if  asleep  he  could  not  find, 

And  his  strong  arms  in  pinions  bind, 

To  burn  him  at  the  dreadful  stake, 
He  would  devote  to  sudden  death  ; 

As  suddenly  his  scalp  would  take, 
And  mock  the  rattle  in  his  breath  : 

Then,  if  pappoose  and  squaw  he  saw, 

Would  massacre  pappoose  and  squaw  ! 

These,  bronzed  barbarians  of  the  Past, 
Cast  in  the  moulds  of  hell,  are  gone  ; 

Their  world  was  wanted,  far  and  fast 

We  drove  them  towards  the  setting  sun. 

Ay — and  if  future  need  should  be, 

We'll  drown  them  in  the  western  sea  ! 

With  iron  nets  we  hold  their  trail ; 

They  find  us  wheresoe'er  they  go  ; 
Though  fierce,  they  cannot  make  us  quail 

Nor  match  the  rifle  with  the  bow. 
We'll  give  them  graves,  and  let  them  try 
The  happy  hunting  grounds  on  high  ! 


MONTEREY. 


CHARLES    FENNO    HOFFMAN. 


WE  were  not  many, — we  who  stood 

Before  the  iron  sleet  that  day  ; 
Yet  many  a  gallant  spirit  would 
Give  half  his  years  if  but  he  could 

Have  been  with  us  at  Monterey. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  shot  it  hailed 

In  deadly  drifts  of  fiery  spray, 
Yet  not  a  single  soldier  quailed 
When  wounded  comrades  round  them  wailed 

Their  dying  shout  at  Monterey. 

And  on,  still  on,  our  column  kept, 

Through  walls  of  flame,  its  withering  way ; 
Where  fell  the  dead,  the  living  slept, 
Still  charging  on  the  guns  which  swept 
The  slippery  streets  of  Monterey. 


The  foe  himself  recoiled  aghast, 

When,  striking  where  he  strongest  lay, 
We  swooped  his  flaming  batteries  past, 
And  braving  full  the  murderous  blast, 
Stormed  home  the  towers  of  Monterey. 

Our  banners  on  those  turrets  wave, 

And  there  our  evening  bugles  play ; 
Where  orange  boughs  above  their  grave, 
Keep  green  the  memory  of  the  brave 
Who  fought  and  fell  at  Monterey. 

We  are  not  many, — we  who  pressed 

Beside  the  brave  who  fell  that  day  ; 
But  who  of  us  has  not  confessed 
He'd  rather  share  the  warrior's  rest 
Than  not  have  been  at  Monterey. 


119 


BIVOUAC    OF    THE    DEAD. 


THEO.    O  KARA. 


[Theodore  O'Hara,  of  Kentucky,  the  author  of  the  "  Bivouac  of  the  Dead,"  was  a  Cadet  at  West  Point,  but  was  "  found  "  and  did  not  graduate.] 


THE  muffled  drum's  sad  roll  has  beat 

The  soldier's  last  tattoo  ; 
No  more  on  life's  parade  shall  meet 

The  brave  and  fallen  few. 
On  fame's  eternal  camping  ground 

Their  silent  tents  are  spread, 
And  glory  guards  with  solemn  round 

The  bivouac  of  the  dead  ! 

No  rumor  of  the  foe's  advance 

Now  swells  upon  the  wind ; 
No  troubled  thought  at  midnight  haunts, 

Of  loved  ones  left  behind. 
No  vision  of  the  morrow's  strife, 

The  warrior's  dream  alarms  ; 
Nor  braying  horn  nor  screaming  fife 

At  dawn  shall  call  to  arms. 


Their  shivered  swords  are  red  with  rust, 

Their  plume'd  heads  are  bowed  ; 
Their  haughty  banner,  trailed  in  dust, 

Is  now  their  martial  shroud  ; 
And  plenteous  funeral  tears  have  washed 

The  red  stains  from  each  brow, 
And  the  proud  forms,  by  battle  gashed, 

Are  freed  from  anguish  now. 

The  neighing  troop,  the  flashing  blade. 

The  bugle's  stirring  blast, 
The  charge,  the  dreadful  cannonade, 

The  din  and  shout,  are  past ; 
Nor  war's  wild  note  nor  glory's  peal 

Shall  thrill  with  fierce  delight 
Those  breasts  that  nevermore  may  feel 

The  raptures  of  the  fight. 


1 20 


For,  like  the  dreadful  hurricane 

That  sweeps  the  wild  plateau, 
Flushed  with  the  triumph  yet  to  gain, 

Came  down  the  serried  foe, 
Who  heard  the  tempest  of  the  fray 

Break  o'er  the  field  beneath  ; 
Knew  well  the  watchword  of  that  day 

Was  "  Victory  or  Death  !" 

Long  had  the  doubtful  conflict  raged 

Across  the  surging  plain, 
For  ne'er  such  fight  before  had  waged 

The  fiery  sons  of  Spain ; 
And  still  the  storm  of  battle  blew, 

Still  swelled  the  gory  tide- 
Not  long,  our  stout  old  chieftain  knew, 

Such  odds  his  strength  could  bide. 


131 


'Twas  in  that  hour  his  stern  command 

Called  to  a  martyr's  grave, 
The  flower  of  his  beloved  land, 

The  nation's  flag  to  save. 
By  rivers  of  their  father's  gore 

His  first-born  laurels  grew, 
And  well  he  deemed  the  sons  would  pour 

Their  lives  for  glory,  too  ! 

Full  many  a  Northern  breath  hath  swept 

O'er  Angostura's  plain, 
And  long  the  pitying  eye  hath  wept 

Above  her  mouldering  slain  ; 
The  raven's  scream,  or  eagle's  flight, 

Or  shepherd's  pensive  lay, 
Alone  awakes  each  sullen  height 

That  frowned  on  that  dread  fray. 


Sons  of  "the  dank  and  bloody  ground," 

Ye  should  not  slumber  there, 
Where  stranger  steps  and  tongues  resound 

Along  the  heedless  air  ; 
Your  own  proud  land's  heroic  soil 

Must  be  your  fitter  grave  ; 
She  claims  from  war  her  richest  spoil— 

The  ashes  of  the  brave  ! 

Now  'neath  their  parent  turf  they  rest, 

Far  from  the  gory  field, 
Borne  to  a  Spartan  mother's  breast, 

On  many  a  bloody  shield  ; 
The  sunshine  of  their  native  sky 

Smiles  sadly  on  them  here, 
And  kindred  eyes  and  hearts  watch  by 

The  soldier's  sepulchre. 


122 


Rest  on,  embalmed  and  sainted  dead, 

Dear  as  the  blood  ye  gave ! 
No  impious  footsteps  here  shall  tread 

The  herbage  of  your  grave  ; 
Nor  shall  your  glory  be  forgot 

While  Fame  her  record  keeps, 
Or  honor  paints  the  hallowed  spot 

Where  valor  proudly  sleeps. 

Yon  faithful  herald's  blazoned  stone, 

With  mournful  pride,  shall  tell, 
When  many  a  vanished  age  hath  flown, 

The  story  how  ye  fell ; 
Nor  wreck,  nor  change,  nor  winter's  flight, 

Nor  time's  remorseless  doom, 
Shall  mar  one  ray  of  glory's  light 

That  gilds  your  deathless  tomb. 


THE    BLUE    AND    THE    GRAY. 


BY  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 
Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  had  fled, 

Where  the  blades  of  the  grave-grass  quiver, 
Asleep  are  the  ranks  of  the  dead  ; — 

Under  the  sod  and  the  dew ; 
Waiting  the  judgment  day ; 

Under  the  one,  the  Blue  ; 

Under  the  other,  the  Gray. 

*  *  *  *  * 

From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours 

The  desolate  mourners  go, 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers, 

Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  foe  ; — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew  ; 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue  ; 

Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 
So  with  an  equal  splendor, 

The  morning  sun-rays  fall, 
With  a  touch  impartially  tender, 

On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all ; — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew  : 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Broidered  with  gold,  the  Blue  ; 

Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 


So  when  the  Summer  calleth 

On  forest  and  field  of  grain, 
With  an  equal  murmur  falleth 

The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain ; 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew  ; 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue  ; 

Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Gray. 

Sadly,  but  not  upbraidingly, 

The  generous  deed  was  done ; 
In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading, 

No  braver  battle  was  won  ; 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Under  the  blossoms,  the  Blue  ; 

Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 

No  more  shall  the  war  cry  sever, 

Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red  ; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever 

When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead  ! 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 

Waiting  the  judgment  day  ; 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue ; 

Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray.  F.  M.  FINCH. 


THE    PRIDE    OF    BATTERY    B. 


F.    H.    GASSAWAY. 


SOUTH  MOUNTAIN  towered  upon  our  right, 

Far  off  the  river  lay, 
And  over  on  the  wooded  height 

We  held  their  lines  at  bay. 

At  last  the  muttering  guns  were  still, 

The  day  died  slow  and  wan. 
At  last  the  gunners'  pipes  did  fill, 

The  sergeant's  yarns  began. 

When,  as  the  wind  a  moment  blew 

Aside  the  fragrant  flood 
Our  brierwoods  raised,  within  our  view 

A  little  maiden  stood. 

A  tiny  tot  of  six  or  seven, 

From  fireside  fresh  she  seemed, 

(Of  such  a  little  one  in  heaven 
One  soldier  often  dreamed.) 

And,  as  we  stared,  her  little  hand 

Went  to  her  curly  head 
In  grave  salute  :  "  And  who  are  you  ?" 

At  length  the  sergeant  said. 
124 


"  And  where's  your  home  ?"  he  growled  again. 

She  lisped  out,  "  Who  is  me? 
Why,  don't  you  know?  I'm  little  Jane, 
The  Pride  of  Battery  B. 

"  My  home  ?  Why,  that  was  burned  away, 

And  pa  and  ma  are  dead, 

And  so  I  ride  the  guns  all  day 

Along  with  Sergeant  Ned. 

"  And  I've  a  drum  that's  not  a  toy, 

A  cap  with  feathers,  too, 
And  I  march  beside  the  drummer-boy 
On  Sundays  at  review ; 

"  But  now  our  'bacca's  all  give  out, 

The  men  can't  have  their  smoke, 
And  so  they're  cross — why,  even  Ned 
Won't  play  with  me  and  joke. 

"  And  the  big  Colonel  said,  to-day — 

I  hate  to  hear  him  swear — 
He'd  give  a  leg  for  a  good  pipe 
Like  the  Yanks  had  over  there. 


"  And  so  I  thought  when  beat  the  drum, 

And  the  big  guns  were  still, 
I'd  creep  beneath  the  tent  and  come 
Out  here  across  the  hill, 

"And  beg,  good  Mister  Yankee  men, 

You  give  me  some  Lone  Jack, 
Please  do — when  we  get  some  again 
I'll  surely  bring  it  back. 

"  Indeed  I  will,  for  Ned,  says  he, 

If  I  do  what  I  say 
I'll  be  a  General  yet,  maybe, 
And  ride  a  prancing  bay." 

We  brimmed  her  tiny  apron  o'er ; 

You  should  have  heard  her  laugh 
As  each  man  from  his  scanty  store 

Shook  out  a  generous  half. 

To  kiss  the  little  mouth  stooped  down 

A  score  of  grimy  men, 
Until  the  Sergeant's  husky  voice 

Said,  "  Tention,  squad  !"  and  then 


We  gave  her  escort,  till  good-night 

The  pretty  waif  we  bid, 
And  watched  her  toddle  out  of  sight — 

Or  else  'twas  tears  that  hid 

Her  tiny  form — nor  turned  about 

A  man,  nor  spoke  a  word 
Till  after  a  while  a  far,  hoarse  shout 

Upon  the  wind  we  heard  ! 

We  sent  it  back,  then  cast  sad  eyes 

Upon  the  scene  around. 
A  baby's  hand  had  touched  the  ties 

That  brothers  once  had  bound. 

That's  all — save  when  the  dawn  awoke 

Again  the  work  of  hell, 
And  through  the  sullen  clouds  of  smoke 

The  screaming  missiles  fell. 

Our  General  often  rubbed  his  glass, 

And  marvelled  much  to  see 
Not  a  single  shell  that  whole  day  fell 

In  the  camp  of  Battery  B. 


THE    IRISH    PICKET. 

ORPHEUS    C.    KEKK. 

I'M  shtanding  in  the  mud,  Biddy, 
With  not  a  spalpeen  near, 

And  silence,  spaichless  as  the  grave, 
Is  all  the  sound  I  hear. 

Me  goon  is  at  the  showlder  arms ; 

I'm  wetted  to  the  bone  ; 
And  when  I'm  afther  spakin'  out, 

I  find  myself  alone. 

This  Western  climate's  quare,  Biddy, 
A  quare  and  bastely  thing, 

Wid  winter  absint  all  the  year, 
And  summer  in  the  spring. 

Ye  mind  the  hot  place  down  below  ? 

And  may  ye  niver  fear 
I'd  dthraw  comparisons — but  then 

It's  awful  warrum  here. 

The  only  moon  I  see,  Biddy, 
Is  one  shmall  star,  asthore, 

And  that's  fornint  the  very  cloud, 
It  was  behind  before  ; 


The  watch-fires  glame  along  the  hill 

That's  swellin'  to  the  West, 
And  whin  the  sentry  passes  them, 

It  never  is  to  rest. 

Its  dead  for  shlape  I  am,  Biddy, 

And  dramein'  shwate  I'd  be, 
If  them  red  injuns  over  there 
Would  only  lave  me  free ; 

But  when  I  lane  against  a  shtump, 

And  shtrive  to  get  repose, 
A  nasty  arrow's  coming  straight 

To  hit  me  spacious  nose. 

It's  ye  I'd  like  to  see,  Biddy, 

A  shparkin  here  wid  me, 
And  then,  avourneen,  hear  you  say 

"  Acushla — Pat— machree  !" 

"  Och,  Biddy  darlint,"  then  says  I ; 
Says  you  :  "  Get  out  of  that !" 
Says  I :  "  Me  arrum  mates  your  waist  •" 
Says  you  :  "  Be  daycent,  Pat !" 

And  how's  the  pigs  and  ducks,  Biddy  ? 

It's  them  I  think  of,  shure, 
That  look  so  innocent  and  shwate 

Upon  the  parlor  flure  ; 


I'm  sure  ye'r  aisy  with  the  pig, 

That's  fat  as  he  can  be, 
And  fade  him  with  the  best,  oecause 

I'm  tould  he  looks  like  me. 

Whin  I  come  home  again,  Biddy, 

A  sargent  tried  and  thrue, 
It's  joost  a  dacent  house  I'll  build 

And  rent  it  chaoe  to  you. 

We'll  have  a  parlor,  bed-room,  hall, 

A  duck-pond  nately  done. 
With  kitchen,  pig-pen,  praty-patch, 

And  garret — all  in  one. 

But,  murther!  there's  a  baste,  Biddy, 
That's  crapin'  round  a  tree, 

And  well  I  know  the  crayture's  there 
To  have  a  shot  at  me. 

Now,  misther  red  skin,  say  yer  pray'rs, 
And  howld  yer  dirthy  paw  ; 

Here  goes — be  jabers,  Biddy  dear, 
I've  broke  his  oogly  jaw! 


A    GLOSSARY 


OF   THE 

Technical  Words  and.  ^Expressions  in  use  at  the  TTnited  States  ^Military  A.ca.ciemy. 


ANIMAL — A  new  Cadet. 
ANGLE — The  quarters  of  the  bachelor  Officers. 

ARREST — In  arrest.     To  be  deprived  of  all  privileges,  and  remain  in  confine 
ment. 

ANNA  LYTICAL — Analytical  geometry. 
AREA — The  area — the  open  space  in  rear  of  barracks. 

AT  LARGE — A  Cadet  who  is  appointed  by  the  President — only  ten  each  year. 
BATTERY  KNOX — A  gun  battery  looking  down  the  river. 
BEAST — An  appointee  upon  his  arrival.     A  fourth  classman. 
BEAST  BARRACKS — Quarters  occupied  by  new  Cadets. 
BENTZ — The  bugler— who  has  acted  in  that  capacity  for  nearly  fifty  years. 
BITE  TAN  BARK — To  be  thrown  from  a  horse  in  riding  hall. 
BONE — To  bone — to  study  hard. 
BOOT  LICK- — A  Sycophant. 

BOARD  OF  VISITORS — The  "visiting  statesmen"  who  "witness"  the  June 
examination. 

BROKEN — To  be  reduced  to  the  ranks  for  cause.     (See  Busted.} 
BREAK  CAMP — To  move  into  barracks  from  camp. 
BUSTED — To  fail,  or  to  be  reduced  to  the  ranks.     (See  Broken.) 
BUGLE  IT — To  bugle  it,  is  to  face  the  board  until  the  bugle  blows. 


BOOK — To  book  a  subject,  is  to  learn  it  from  the  book  without  under 
standing  it.  To  cram. 

BABE — The  youngest  man  in  the  class. 

CHEM. — Chemistry. 

CIT. — A  citizen. 

CITS — A  suit  of  citizen's  clothes. 

COCK  LOFT — Top  floor  of  the  barracks. 

CONFINEMENT — In  confinement,  is  to  be  confined  to  quarters. 

CRAM — To  study  hard  for  examination. 

CUT — To  cut  a  meal,  is  to  go  without  (and  get  a  sandwich  from  your  room 
mate.) 

CUSSING  OUT — To  chide  with  rudeness  and  boisterous  clamor. 

COLD — A  cold  fess  is  to  fail. 

To  CHIN — To  argue  the  point — to  consume  time  in  argument. 

DAD — The  oldest  man  in  the  class. 

DADE — A  "  favorite  "  cavalry  horse. 

DEAD  BEAT — To  avoid  a  duty.    To  shirk. 

Div. — Divisions — barracks  are  divided  into  eight  divisions. 

DIP. — Diploma. 

DEMERITS — Black  marks — 100  in  six  months  dismiss  a  Cadet. 


129 


DITCH— Fort  Clinton  ditch,  where  they  throw  Plebes  when  they  "devil  "  them 

in  camp. 
DEVIL  A  PLEBE — To  annoy,  to  haze  a  new  Cadet. 

D   T. Double  time — to  run — an  order  which  Plebes  understand. 

EXTRAS — To  walk  extras — a  punishment ;  to  walk  with  gun  in  area  Saturday 

afternoon. 

FAREWELL  HOP— Last  Hoo  given  to  the  graduating  class  by  the  second  class. 
FEM — A  girl — a  young  lady — a  woman. 
FESS — To  fess,  is  to  fail — to  confess  ignorance. 
FESS  COLD — A  bad  failure. 

FESS  PERFECTLY  FRIGID — Is  a  complete  failure — hopeless. 
FESS  ON  A  CLEAN  BOARD — To  know  nothing  whatever  of  the  subject  before 

you. 

FIRST  CLASS— Highest  class— senior. 
FILE— A  Cadet. 

FIZZLE— To  fizzle— to  do  poorly. 

FLIRTATION  WALK — A  beautiful  path  where  Cadets  go  to  "  spoon." 
FOURTH  CLASS — Lowest  class — freshmen. 
FOUND — Found  deficient. 

FORT  PUT. — Fort  Putnam,  a  ruin  of  the  Revolution. 

FURLOUGHMEN — Cadets  just  leaving  for,  or  just  returning  from,  furlough. 
FUDGE — To  fudge  is  to  appear  to  be  perfect  in  a  lesson,  and  know  nothing 

about  it. 

GALL — Undue  precociousness. 
GOUGE — To  receive  unauthorized  assistance. 
GRIND — A  witty  remark — a  joke. 
HASH — A  cadet  hash — meals  at  room  after  taps. 
HAZING— To  haze  a  plebe,  to  run  him. 
HIVED — To  be  caught  doing  something  wrong. 

(  A  gentleman  whom  Cadets  will  meet  on  the  plains  (Indian). 
'  ' '  K 
•'  (  An  army  toast. 

130 


IMMORTALS — The  lowest  in  the  class — the  last  section. 

JUNE  BUG — A  Plebe  who  reports  in  June. 

JUDGE — Name  given  to  a  popular  man  by  his  class. 

KEEN — A  witty  remark. 

LATES — To  be  late — behind  time. 

LAST  SECTION— Lowest  section  in  the  class.     (See  Immortals.) 

(  To  do  a  thing  well — a  perfect  recitation. 
~~  (  To  max,  is  to  get  a  high  mark. 
MATH. — Mathematics. 
MATHEW-MATICS — Mathematics. 
MENAGERIE — A  class  of  Plebes. 
MESS  HALL — Dining-room  for  Cadets. 
MEDICO — The  Surgeon  at  hospital. 

MANGLE — To  "go  for" — to  cause  to  fess  cold — to  discipline. 
NOSE  THE  BOARD — To  face  the  board  until  section  is  dismissed. 
OFF  LIMITS — To  go  outside  of  Cadet  limits — to  run  it. 

PALMS  TO  THE  FRONT — One  of  the  first  movements  taught  the  Plebe. 

PERMIT — No  Cadet  can  receive  a  package  without  .1  permit,  or  permission. 

PINKED — To  be  reported  for  some  offense. 

PLEBE — A  new  Cadet,  called  a  Plebe  during  fourth  class  year. 

PHIL. — Philosophy. 

POLICE  DETAIL — To  clean  up  camp. 

PROFS. — Professors. 

PRELIM. — Preliminary  examinations. 

PAPER  IT — To  use  written  memoranda  of  the  lesson  during  recitation. 

RAG  OUT— To  do  anything  well— a  perfect  recitation. 

RAG  PERFECTLY  REGARDLESS— To  be  perfect,  Ai. 

REVEILLE1 — Morning  call. 

R.E.EKLESS— Reckless,  not  attending  to  regulations. 

RETREAT— Evening  parade. 


RICOCHET — Very  swell — nobby. 

RUN  IT — To  run  it — to  go  off  limits. 

ROCKS — Geology. 

SALLY  PORT — Passage  way  through  barracks. 

STAG  DANCE — Dance  where  none  but  Cadets  are  present. 

SAVEZ  ? — -Understand. 

SEP. — A  Cadet  who  reports  in  September. 

SET  ON — To  "set"  down  on — to  discourage  one. 

SECOND  CLASS — Junior  class. 

SEA  COAST  BATTERY — Battery  on  river  edge,  looking  up  the  river. 

SHEEPSKIN — Diploma. 

SKINNED — To  be  reported. 

SKIN  BOOK — The  book  in  which  reports  are  recorded. 

SKIN  BOARD — Bulletin  in  guard-house,  where  skins  are  posted. 

SPOON — To  spoon,  is  to  flirt  with  a  young  lady. 

SPOON — A  young  lad}- — sweetheart — lady-love. 

SPOONEY  MAN — One  who  pays  particular  attention  to  the  ladies. 

SECTION  ROOM — Recitation  room. 

SPOONEY  LETTER — A  love-letter. 

SHOT — To  be  shot,  is  to  be  photographed. 

SUMMER  HOPS — Hops  given  by  the  Cadets  during  summer  encampment. 


'3' 


SCOOP — To  "  gather  in  " — to  overcome — to  get  the  better  of. 

SUPE — The  superintendent. 

STRIKERS — Officers'  servants. 

TATTOO — Tattoo,  a  bugle  half  an  hour  before  taps. 

TAPS — Three  taps  on  a  drum  ;  signal  to  extinguish  lights. 

TAN  BARKED — To  be  thrown  from  horse  in  riding  hall. 

THING — A  Plebe. 

THIRD  CLASS — Sophomores. 

TROPHY  POINT — A  point  looking  up  the  river.     A  collection  of  Mexican 

war  trophies. 
TRIG. — Trigonometry. 

TURN  BACK — One  who  remains  in  the  same  class  another  year. 
TUBS — The  fattest  man  in  the  class. 

UNPOLICED — A  room  not  properly  arranged  at  inspection. 
WHEATON  IT — To  be  excused  from  duty  by  the  Surgeon. 
YEARLING — A  Cadet  who  has  finished  his  first  year. 
YEARLING  CAMP — Camp  during  first  year. 
YANKING — Usually  applied  to  "yanking  a  Plebe"  out  of  his  bed  at  night, 

during  camp. 
YOUNGSTER. — (See  plebe.) 


SQUIBS  FROM  THE  "SKINBOOK"  IN  CAMP  AND  BARRACKS. 


CADET  BRIDLE. 

BARREL. 

*BELL  BUTTONS. 

BUGLE. 

BULLET. 
CARELESS. 

CARTRIDGE. 
CHEEK. 

*DlVIDERS. 

FEM. 
FIZZLE. 


FLINT. 

FRIGID. 

FURLOUGHMAN. 

GRIND. 
HIVE. 

JUDGE. 


Using  disrespectful  and  insubordinate  language  to  Cadet 

Officer,  while  in  execution  of  his  duty,  5  and  5.30  P.M. 
Threatening  a  Cadet  Officer  for  an  act  done  in  execution 

of  duty. 
Permitting  and  requiring  a  ntw  Cadet  to  sweep  out  his  room 

and  perform  menial  services,  5  and  7  A  ,M. 
Not  knowing  right  hand  from  left. 
Not  depressing  toes  going  to  breakfast. 
Inattention  at  squad  drill,  5.30  to  6.30  P.M. 
Coming  from  "  right  shoulder  arms"  to  "present  arms," 

when  saluting  Officer  of  the  Day,  4  and  4.30  P.M. 
Persistently  swinging  arms  at  drill,  P.M.,  after  having  been 

several  times  reported  for  same. 
Unauthorized  rifle  practice  in  hall  of  barracks. 
Asking  an  old  Cadet  to  perform  menial  service  for  him, 

9.45  and  10  P.M. 

Washbowl  not  inverted  at  troop  parade. 
Collar  to  wide  in  Chapel  during  divine  service,  10. 30  A.  M  and 

12  M. 

Squealing  in  ranks  at  tattoo  roll-call. 
Gross  carelessness:  dropping  gun  marching  in  relief,  9.40 

tO  IO  A.M. 

Submitling  explanation  with  one  word  misspelled. 

Going  between  guns  of  battery  in  front  of  camp,  3.50  P.M. 

Passing  between  Squad  and  Corporal,  2.30  P.M. 

Cap  on  side  of  head,  10  to  10.30  P.M. 

Requesting  a  new  Cadet  to  help  to  straighten  it. 

Laughing  in  tent  after  taps. 

Firing  brickbats  from   Reveille  gun,  when  Officer  of  the 

Guard. 

Button  of  overcoat  unbuttoned  at  undress  parade. 
Wearing  dirty  collar  at  drill,  A.M. 


JUNE  BUG. 

LATES. 

MENAGERIE. 

NATTY. 

PHIL. 

RAMROD. 

RAZOR. 

R.fi-.ffKLESS. 

REVEILLE'S. 

ROCKS. 

SEP. 

SHOESTRING. 
SKINNEY. 

SMIRK. 

SNARL. 

SWYKHAMMER. 
TAN  BARK. 
TRAIL. 

TRIGGER. 

TUBS. 
WORTHLESS. 

YEARLING. 


GOUGER. 

BAYONET. 
IMMORTAL. 


Not  conversant  with  countersign,  10  and  10.30  P.M. 

Yawning  in  ranks  at  Reveille,  5  A.M. 

Not  removing  dirt  from  under  bucket  at  police,  4  P.M. 

Extravagant  wash  at  laundry. 

Bayonet  button  dirty  at  guard  mounting. 

Gazing  about  in  ranks,  5.30  A.M. 

Very  long  whiskers  at  troop  parade. 

Harassing  new  Cadet,  11.30  P.M. 

Looking  at  feet  at  breakfast  roll-call. 

Wearing  hop  gloves  at  troop  parade. 

Not  executing  "left  forward,  fours  left"  properly — marching 

to  dinner. 

Shoes  not  tied  at  Reveille. 
Boots   not  properly  dusted  at  inspection  of  quarters,  9.30 

and  10  A.M. 

Smiling  in  ranks  coming  from  breakfast. 
Explanation  blotted,  and  not  correctly  stated. 
Odor  of  apples  in  quarters,  A.M. 
Same  at  same. 
Dust  on  collar  at  tattoo. 
Not  keeping  dressed  inarching  to  church. 
Do/ing  in  church. 

Dust  on  vizor  of  cap  at  troop  parade. 
Falling  out  to  fix  tent  at  troop  parade. 
Shoes  not  blacked,  and  pants  dirty  at  retreat  parade. 
Explanation  not  properly  endorsed. 
Not  removing  wash  from  "A"  Co.  stoop,  1.30  to  2  P.M. 

ACADEMICAL  DELINQUENCIES. 
Not  standing  attention  while  reciting  in  Math. 
Room  not  swept  at  Police  inspection. 
Not  properly  prepared  in  lesson  in  Law. 


I32 


*  Explanation  of  offence,  see  following  page. 


EXPLANATIONS  : 

[EXACT  COPY.] 

WEST  POINT,  N.  Y.,  August        ,  187     . 

OFFENCE. — Permitting  and  requiring  a  new  Cadet  to  sweep  out  his  room  and  perform  manual  services,  5  and  7  A.M. 

EXPLANATION. — I  would  respectfully  state,  that  after  careful  thought  and  speaking  with  my  room-mate,  I  think  that  I  did  ask 
a  new  Cadet  to  help  me  in  fixing  up  my  room  to  the  extent  of  sweeping  out  part  of  it.  The  request  was  made  the  same 
as  I  would  have  asked  a  classmate,  and  complied  with  without  any  reluctance  or  words  at  all,  and  I  thought  nothing  of  it 
then  and  had  entirely  forgotten  it.  Nothing  else  was  done  or  required  of  any  Cadet  that  could  possibly  be  construed  as 

above. 

Respectfully  submitted, 
To  "BELL   BUTTONS," 

Lieut. -Col.  E.  UPTON,  Cadet  Corp'l,  3d  Class,  "A"  Co. 

Commandant  Corps  of  Cadets. 

(Word  manual  should  read  menial ;  mistake  of  the  clerk.) 

(Cadet  Corp'l  "  BELL  BUTTONS"  was  reduced  to  the  ranks  for  this  ofence.J 


[EXACT  coi'V.l 

WEST  POINT,  N.  Y.,  Dec.        ,  187     . 
OFFENCE. — Collar  too  wide  in  chapel,  during  divine  service,  10.30  A.M.  and  12  M. 

EXPLANATION. — I  would  respectfully  state  that  the  collar  was  no  wider  "  in  the  chapel "  than  anywhere  else. 

It  was  my  intention  to  give  it  the  proper  width  all  round,  but  I  had  no  very  accurate  instruments.     It  was  clean,  and 
I  thought  this  would  be  principally  noticed  during  divine  service. 

Respectfully   submitted, 

"  DIVIDERS," 

TO  Cadet  Pr'vt,  "  B  "  Co.,  3d  Class. 

Lieut.-Col.  E.  UPTON, 

Commandant  Corps  of  Cadets. 

(  The  above  report  was  removed. ) 


'33 


INFORMATION  RELATIVE  TO  THE 


APPOINTMENT    AND    ADMISSION    OF    CADETS. 

(From  the  Official  Register  of  the  U.  S.  M.  A.) 


EACH  Congressional  District  and  Territory — also  the  District  of  Columbia 
— is  entitled  to  have  one  Cadet  at  the  Academy.  Ten  are  also  annually  ap 
pointed  at  large.  The  appointments  (excepting  those  at  large)  are  made  by 
the  Secretary  of  War  at  the  request  of  the  Representative,  or  Delegate,  in  Con 
gress  from  the  District,  or  Territory;  and  the  person  appointed  must  be  an 
actual  resident  of  the  District,  or  Territory,  from  which  the  appointment  is  made. 
The  appointments  at  large  are  specially  conferred  by  the  President  of  the  United 
States. 

Applications  can  at  any  time  be  made  by  letter  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  to 
have  the  name  of  the  applicant  placed  upon  the  register,  that  it  may  be  furnished 
to  the  proper  Representative,  or  Delegate,  when  a  vacancy  occurs.  The  appli 
cation  must  exhibit  the  full  name,  exact  age,  and  permanent  abode  of  the  ap 
plicant,  with  the  number  of  the  Congressional  District  in  which  his  residence  is 
situated.  No  person  who  has  served  in  any  capacity  in  the  military  or  naval 
service  of  the  so-called  Confederate  States  can  be  appointed. 

When  practicable,  appointments  are  made  one  year  in  advance  of  the  date 
of  admission. 

The  age  for  the  admission  of  Cadets  to  the  Academy  is  between  seventeen 
and  twenty-two  years  ;  but  any  person  who  served  honorably  and  faithfully  not 
less  than  one  year  as  an  officer  or  enlisted  man  in  either  the  regular  or  volunteer 
service,  in  the  late  war  for  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion,  is  eligible  for  ap- 

'34 


pointment  up  to  the  age  of  twenty-four  years.  Candidates  must  be  at  least  five 
feet  in  height,  and  free  from  any  infectious  or  immoral  disorder,  and  generally, 
from  any  deformity,  disease,  or  infirmity,  which  may  render  them  unfit  for  mili 
tary  service.  They  must  be  well  versed  in  reading,  in  writing,  including  or 
thography,  and  in  arithmetic,  have  a  knowledge  of  the  elements  of  English 
grammar,  of  descriptive  geography,  particularly  of  our  own  country,  and  of 
the  history  of  the  United  States.  A  thorough  knowledge  of  the  elementary 
studies  will  be  much  more  beneficial  to  the  applicant  than  a  proficiency  in  ]he 
higher  branches,  upon  which  he  is  not  examined. 

Every  candidate  is,  soon  after  his  arrival  at  West  Point,  subjected  to  a  rigid 
physical  examination  by  an  experienced  Medical  Board,  and  if  there  is  found 
to  exist  in  him  any  of  the  following  causes  of  disqualification,  to  such  a  degree 
as  would  immediatelj',  or  at  no  very  distant  period,  impair  his  efficiency,  he  is 
rejected : 

1.  Feeble  constitution  and  muscular  tenuity  ;  unsound  health  from  whatever 
cause;  indications  of  former  disease  ;  glandular  swellings,  or  other  symptoms 
of  scrofula. 

2.  Chronic  cutaneous  affections,  especially  of  the  scalp. 

3.  Severe  injuries  of  the  bones  of  the  head  ;  convulsions. 

4.  Impaired  vision,  from  whatever  cause  ;  inflammatory  affections  of  the  eye 
lids  ;  immobility  or  irregularity  of  the  iris  ;  fistula  lachrymalis,  etc. 


5-   Deafness;  copious  discharge  from  the  tars. 

6.  Loss  of  many  teeth,  or  the  teeth  generally  unsound. 

7.  Impediment  of  speech. 

8.  Want  of  due  capacity  of  the  chest,  and  any  other  indication  of  a  liability 
to  a  pulmonic  disease. 

9.  Impaired  or  inadequate  efficiency  of  one  or  both  of  the  superior  extremi 
ties,  on  account  of  fractures,  especially  of  the  clavicle,  contraction  of  a  joint, 
extenuation,  deformity,  etc. 

10.  An  unusual  excurvature  or  incurvature  of  the  spine. 

11.  Hernia. 

12.  A  varicose  state  of  the  veins  of  the  scrotum  or  spermatic  cord  (when 
large),  sarcocele,  hydrocele,  hemorrhoids,  fistulas. 

13.  Impaired  or  inadequate  efficiency  of  one  or  both  of  the  inferior  extremities 
on  account  of  varicose  veins,  fractures,  malformation  (flat  feet,  etc.,)  lameness, 
contraction,  unequal  length,  bunions,  overlying  or  supernumerary  toes,  etc. 

14.  Ulcers,  or  unsound  cicatrices  of  ulcers  likely  to  break  out  afresh. 

The  newly  appointed  Cadets  are  then  examined  by  the  Academic  Board,  and 
those  net  properly  qualified  are  rejected.  Those  admitted  are  required  to  sign 
articles  binding  themselves  to  serve  the  United  States  eight  years  from  the  time 
of  their  admission  into  the  Academy,  unless  sooner  discharged  by  competent 
authority,  and  do  solemnly  swear  that  they  will  support  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States,  and  bear  true  allegiance  to  the  national  government. 

Resignations  and  discharges  can  be  always  obtained,  except  during  times  of 
war,  or  when  the  services  of  the  full  army  are  required. 

The  Cadets  are  arranged  in  four  distinct  classes,  corresponding  with  the  four 
years  of  study.  The  Cadets  employed  on  the  first  year's  course  constitute  the 
FOURTH  CLASS  ;  those  on  the  second  year's  course  the  THIRD  CLASS  ;  those  on 
the  third  year's  course  the  SECOND  CLASS  ;  and  those  on  the  fourth  year's  course 
the  FIRST  CLASS. 

The  academic  year  commences  on  the  1st  of  July,  on  or  before  which  day 
the  result  of  the  examination  held  in  the  preceding  month  is  announced. 


During  the  months  of  July  and  August,  the  Cadets  live  in  camp,  engaged 
only  in  military  duties  and  exercises,  and  receiving  practical  military  instruc 
tion,  excepting  the  third  class  men,  who  are  then  on  furlough. 

The  academic  duties  and  exercises  commence  on  the  ist  of  September,  and 
continue  until  about  the  last  of  June.  Examinations  of  the  several  classes  are 
held  in  January  and  June,  and  at  the  former,  such  of  the  new  Cadets  as  are 
found  proficient  in  studies,  and  have  been  correct  in  conduct,  are  given  the 
particular  standing  in  their  class  to  which  their  merits  entitle  them.  After  either 
examination,  Cadets  found  deficient  in  conduct  or  studies  are  discharged  from 
the  Academy,  unless,  for  special  reasons  in  each  case,  the  Academic  Board 
should  otherwise  recommend.  Similar  examinations  are  held  every  January 
and  June  during  the  four  years  comprising  the  course  of  studies. 

These  examinations  are  very  thorough,  and  require  from  the  Cadet  a  close 
and  persevering  attention  to  study,  without  evasion  or  slighting  of  any  part  of 
the  course,  as  no  relaxations  of  any  kind  can  be  made  by  the  examiners. 

The  pay  of  a  Cadet  is  $540,  per  year,  to  commence  with  his  admission  into 
the  Academy,  and  is  sufficient,  with  proper  economy,  for  his  support.  No  Cadet 
is  permitted  to  receive  money,  or  any  other  supplies,  from  his  parents  or  from 
any  person  whomsoever,  without  the  sanction  of  the  Superintendent. 

When  a  Cadet  shall  receive  a  regular  degree  from  the  Academie  Board, 
after  going  through  the  classes,  he  is  considered  as  among  the  candidates  for  a 
commission  in  the  Engineers,  Ordnance,  Artillery,  Infantry  or  Cavalry,  accord 
ing  to  the  duties  he  may  be  judged  competent  to  perform. 

A  sound  body  and  constitution,  suitable  preparation,  good  natural  capacity, 
an  aptitude  for  study,  industrious  habits,  perseverance,  an  obedient  and  orderly 
disposition,  and  a  correct  moral  deportment,  are  such  essential  qualifications 
that  candidates,  knowingly  deficient  in  any  of  these  respects,  should  not,  as 
many  do,  subject  themselves  and  their  friends  to  the  chances  of  future  mortifi 
cation  and  disappointment  by  accepting  appointments  at  the  Academy,  and 
entering  upon  a  career  which  they  cannot  successfully  pursue. 


135 


AN  HISTORICAL  LEAF. 

THE  opposite  page  is  an  exact  fac-simile  of  a  leaf  taken  from  the  old  register  of  "  Roe's  Hotel," 
— now  known  as  the  West  Point  Hotel.  Upon  this  page  appear  the  signatures  of  several  per 
sons  who  have  since  become  eminent  in  the  history  of  our  country. 

It  is  said  of  General  Grant,  when  he  first  left  his  Ohio  home,  and  reported  at  West  Point, 
on  the  29th  day  of  May,  1839,  that  upon  signing  his  name  "  U.  H.  Grant,"*  in  the  Academic 
Register  at  the  Adjutant's  Office,  he  was  informed  that  there  was  no  appointment  for  any  candi 
date  of  that  name ;  but  that  there  was  one  for  U.  S.  Grant. 

This  mistake  in  an  initial  was  doubtless  due  to  a  misunderstanding  on  the  part  of  the 
Congressman  of  his  District  in  making  out  the  appointment. 

The  future  General  and  President  replied,  in  a  manner  which  was  probably  then  as  charac 
teristic  as  it  is  at  present,  that  the  change  of  an  initial  made  no  particular  difference  to  him. 

His  object  was  to  enter  the   Military  Academy  as  a  Cadet. 

*  "  Ulysses  Hiram  Grant "  was  the  General's  original  name. 


AUTOGRAPHS  now  are  quite  the  thing, 
And  sought  at  fancy  prices, 

'Least  those  that  to  remembrance  bring 
Great  virtues— or  great  vices. 


The  names  of  some  indent  the  rocks 
High  up  the  Alps — sublimely  vast ; 

Euphonious  ones — Smith,  Brown,  and  Cox, 
And  Jones,  not  least  though  last. 

While  others  theirs  do  carve  well  up 

On  Fame's  illusive  temple  ; 
And  with  the  gods,  as  equals,  sup,— 

The  common  herd's  too  simple. 

Tis  said  there's  nothing  in  a  name : 

Still,  let  us  clutch  the  hope 
That  genius  guards  the  undying  fame 

Of  Shakespeare,  Byron,  Pope. 


Yet  ask  I  not  their  studied  wit, 
But  names  of  soldiers  tried  ; 

Not  like  to  Keats,  "in  water  writ," 
But  on  this  leaflet's  side. 

I  ask  thy  hand  and  name,  dear  boy— 

E'er  on  the  sea  of  life 
Thou  go,  that  weapon  here  employ 

Not  stained  in  battle  strife  ! 

And  if  Fair  Hands  perchance  consent 

To  flourish  graceful  pens, 
A  Fan  is  spread,  by  breezes  bent 

Pour  autographes  des  femmes. 


138 


MILITARY    AUTOGRAPHS. 


FOR    FAIR    HANDS. 


IE3I  O  ZN£  IE  IR,      LEE      &;      CO., 

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but  solem 
York  Ti\ 


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nd  Inval 
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